Wrestling Emotions
by Alias424
Summary: “And let me wring your heart for so I shall, If it be made of penetrable stuff.” William Shakespeare, Hamlet
1. A Pounding Heart

Wrestling Emotions

A/N: This has nothing to do with anything, or at least not any episodes. It's just something that popped into my head and wouldn't leave until it was written down. Enjoy!

"And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,  
If it be made of penetrable stuff."

~ William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

Chapter 1: A Pounding Heart

Her arms pumping, flying, beating through the frigid air; legs moving as fast as they could, her feet barely hitting the frozen ground. The wind rushing through her hair, probably tangling it beyond hope. But that didn't matter now. It never did. The icy air stinging her cheeks, leaving its frosty, throbbing mark, finding its way into her lungs and threatening to burst them. But she never thought of that. Ever. Her heart pumping faster than she would have ever thought humanly possible. The adrenaline coursing through her. Exhilarating. The only thing keeping her going. Every time. The only thing that ever left her wanting more, so much more; that suspended every second. The only thing that made this damn job worthwhile.

Her earphone crackled, squawking as she continued onward. "Syd?"

Well, one of the only things.

"I'm almost there…" she gasped, straining to hear herself over the blood rushing in her ears. Any normal person would have been beyond the powers of speech, but not her. She always found a way to communicate with the voice in her ear, especially if it was Michael Vaughn. "I can see the building."

It was only a speck, or rather a small spark of light from a single emergency bulb, but it was quickly gaining, adding to the excitement, the thrill. Soon she would have completely infiltrated Russian intelligence, would have purloined the documents the CIA needed, that no one else was supposed to have, and would be back in the van with Vaughn and safely on her way to the airport.

Sydney: 1. Russian terrorists: 0. She would have won yet again.

Vaughn's soft voice in her ear carried her back to reality, plucking her from the sheer excitement and gently placing her down in the midst of the freezing storm. She knew he couldn't stand when she did this, knew that part of him died inside every time she was on a mission. He had tried to describe to her one night, as they lay in bed, fingers entwined, how he felt when he listened to her short, gasping breaths over the com-link, when he heard the sickening thud of a body, when he heard her soft, whispering voice. She had laughed quietly and jokingly told him not to listen, to give the job to someone else.

"Be careful, Syd."

She knew he was keeping his voice low to prevent it from cracking, knew that if she could see him, concern would be flickering through his eyes, playing with his emotions, wreaking havoc on his usually stoic front.

She heard a sound behind her; thundering footsteps, so many of them that they were rumbling even over the wind. This didn't sound like the patrol that she knew would be going by eventually. But not until she had safely retrieved the documents and was well on her way back to Vaughn. Not for another thirteen minutes. Ducking into a dark alleyway, she hid amongst the shadows a split second before Vaughn's voice whispered once again in her ear.

"They're on to you."

Instead of worrying over the meaning of his words, Sydney found herself awash in the tone of his voice, the tender love and anxiety enveloping her, making her feel whole, keeping her from fretting, letting her think that everything would be okay.

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe they were compromising missions, or at least themselves, by sleep… living together. But Sydney didn't care, and she knew no one else did either when she and Vaughn were deemed the best working pair that anyone could remember. She closed her eyes and a soft sigh escaped her lips, her senses escaping momentarily and basking in the man of her dreams, her love, her life. His tender kisses and caresses were whispers on her skin, his touch feather-light, leaving her craving…

Deep, ravenous barking invaded her ears, the dogs sounding as if they hadn't been fed in weeks, had been waiting, had been bred, had been starving for this very moment. Sydney stood frozen in the alley, not daring to move, not daring to breathe, trying desperately to come up with a plan, but quickly scrapping that idea and relying on instinct to guide her in the heat of the moment.

Closer and closer. Snarling and growling, stomping and yelling. A flash of white teeth. Sharp fangs. Sprays of saliva. Chunks of dirt uplifted by feet, mixing with the soft snow that was beginning to fall. Fur and feet and hands and faces streaming into view. But gone just as quickly, running right by, most of the pack not faltering for a second. One of the dogs, snarling and angry, poked its nose into the alley, growling viciously, almost close enough to touch her, to take a chunk out of her flesh.

A booming yell from ahead, a Russian word that she couldn't make out, and the dog quickly retreated, darting to catch up with the rest. Confusion clouded her mind, dampening the high of the adrenaline. Trained attack dogs do not just run by their target.

They find. They pounce. They kill.

"Vaughn," she whispered harshly. "What the _hell_ is going on?"

The cold was beginning to catch up with her, caressing her skin with icy finger, soft touches that went straight to her core. She could feel the stinging of her chapped cheeks, hear the howling of the wind, banshee-like through the alley and across the no longer so desolate compound.

They had thought this place was deserted, had thought that no one had even cared that it was here anymore. They had thought that this intelligence compound had been shut down and forgotten, except for the guards that still did their rounds through the abandoned streets. And the CIA, who had recently found that pertinent files still lurking deep within the shadows of the now nearly defunct Russian technology. But if they had figured it out, then…

"Someone else found out about the files, Syd," Vaughn's voice crackled. To anyone else, it would have sounded perfectly calm, cool, and collected. But Sydney knew better. "We haven't been able to get a positive ID." She knew he had heard the dogs and the shouting just as she had, but had been unable to see that she was unharmed, hidden away. He was petrified. More afraid of losing her, than she was of dying. "Get the hell out of there."

"But if I – "

"Syd. Please." _Just drop it and run. Be a coward for once. You don't always have to be the goddamn hero…_

She could almost hear his inner monologue tearing away at him. And maybe the CIA really was behind this decision, maybe they would rather have her run and screw the mission, maybe they could get the files some other time, do without them. Or maybe Michael Vaughn cared more for Sydney Bristow than he did for the CIA.

"I could still get them, Vaughn. ID the group…"

They hadn't seen her yet, and if she laid low, they never would. They would never know that she was there, that they had company, that their every move was being watched and would be documented. She peaked around the corner just in time to see them disappear into the building, the very same building she herself should have been infiltrating at that very moment.

"They're inside," she murmured, not caring that he probably already knew.

She could almost see him, tense and anxious, inches from the computer screen, headphones on, poised and ready, hanging on her every word. She had known it even before he had told her that night; even now she could feel his arm around her, his fingers entwined with hers as he whispered into her hair. But she had already known; could tell by his tone, the words he used, the way his voice came dangerously close to cracking with every word.

"Get out of there, Sydney. Before they come back."

Both pleading and commanding, stern, but never harsh, not with her. Not when this could be the last time he would ever speak to her. The glass was always half empty; he always prepared himself for the worst. When he had told her this, she had tried to convince him that everything would always be okay, that she would never leave him. He had given her that small, sad smile, kissed the top of her head, and tightened his grip on her hand.

Sydney didn't answer, not realizing that that was worse than any response she could have given. She didn't know that the wind was whistling through her end of the com-link to his ears, that he was trying desperately to hear the sound of her breathing, to pass off whispers in the wind as a sign of life.

"Syd?"

The door to the building slammed open, unheard at this distance, but its force apparent as it bounced off the concrete wall, nearly closing again. Figures poured out, shapes barely discernible in the mixture of darkness and snow.

"They're back," Sydney mumbled, ducking back behind the wall. A truck tore by, its headlights blinding even in the dark of the alley. Thankfully, it was going too fast to notice the woman crouching almost clearly within its view.

"Lay low. Don't let them know you're there."

A thousand questions were flaming within her, tiny sparks that would ignite only to be extinguished because she didn't know the answers, because they were taken over by other, bigger, more burning issues.

"I can't see who – "

"Sydney, don't."

She peered around the corner again, the truck's headlights more or less clearly lighting the scene, but the distance still too much to make out individual faces. Men and women were lined up along the wall, hands on their heads. Had she been close enough, she would have seen them shaking, seen the fear in their eyes, the sheer terror directed at the twenty armed men in front of them and the assault rifles breathing down their necks. The tears running down their cheeks, lips quivering, eyes unblinking, afraid that if they shut, the last thing they would remember would be the darkness.

"There were people in the building…" The utter horror of the scene was beginning to catch up with her. Beginning to gnaw away at her and growing slowly worse as time progressed, as the wind howled, as each snowflake fell. This part… this was the worst. The killing the violence. The innocent men and women… and children.

Because a tiny figure at the end of the line had just run into someone else's arms, had just been scooped up and consoled, hiding its head in the other's shoulder. Children… Families... What the hell was going on?

"Vaughn…" her voice was so low that he could barely hear her, but so full of need and fear, so tiny and timid, so chilling…

"Syd, I'm here."

"There… There're children… Kids, Vaughn, and – "

"Do. Not. Move." Each word was a separate statement, a declaration. She could tell he was beginning to compartmentalize, to become solely Agent Vaughn, if only for the moment. And she knew that she needed that, too, that she needed him to control her, to tell her not to move. Because she knew as well as he did that without his direct order, she would be out there in a second, fighting for her life and losing it just as quickly. She was good, but she would never be good enough to take on more than twenty armed terrorists and almost that many half-starved dogs. No one ever would be.

She didn't fight his command. Not verbally. But it was tearing her up inside, ripping her apart. Maybe it was her imagination or just the wind, but she swore that the children's cries were being carried to her on the breeze. She could hear their whimpering, their cries of pain.

"Sydney. Please… Stay where you are," Vaughn repeated, quickly gaining some emotion, his words as thick as the fear that was clouding his brain.

And anyone, whether they worked for the CIA or not, would have realized at that moment that perhaps emotion wasn't such a poison when added to the stresses of their job, this job. Had any other agent been on the other end of her earpiece, Sydney Bristow would have launched herself out of that alleyway and to most certain death. But it wasn't just any agent giving her that command. It was the only one she would actually listen to, the one who she went home with after a tiring day, and lulled away the nightmares that threatened to keep her up at night, the one who held the key to her heart. It was Agent Michael Vaughn.

Sydney sunk down against the wall, waiting for what she knew would come, knowing that Vaughn was seated in his chair in the van thinking the exact same thing, wishing he could be with her at that moment to comfort her, wishing like she was, that there was something they could do.

The air was dense, the wind still screaming, just as Sydney knew the people were, mirroring them, mimicking them out of sympathy perhaps, or maybe unable to stand listening to their shrieks and trying to cover them with its own.

But the wind couldn't cover what was to come next. The sudden, short blasts that she knew ended a life. A small piece of hot metal, twisting its way into flesh, embedding there and stealing the life from the owner, sealing its fate.

"Vaughn… they're executing them."

Neither needed to actually see the proceedings to know what was going on. The scene still played out in their heads, closer to reality than either of them would expect. Sydney fought to keep the tears back, not sure why she was crying for people she had never met, might even be the enemy. But this was no way for anyone to die, no matter what their alliance might be.

She counted the shots, matching them with her own breaths, her heartbeat seeming to echo them, stopping and starting in time with each loss of life.

One…

If she had been closer, she would have heard the thud as the body fell to the ground, empty and hollow, sickening… 

Two…

The shots carried clearly through the air, echoing in her ears and reaching Vaughn's. She knew because he started to whisper to her, to try to tell her that it would be all right, an attempt to hold her when he knew he couldn't. She could barely hear him, barely process his words. But they were there, and that's all that mattered.

"… Syd…"

Three…

"… It's all right, Syd. It's okay…"

Four…

"… c'est bon…"

Five…

"…tout sera bon…"

Six…

"…seulement le séjour…"

Seven…

"…s'il vous plait, Sydney…"

Eight…

"…s'il vous plait…"

Nine…

"…s'il vous plait, ne deplace pas…"

Ten…

"…pour moi, Sydney…"

Eleven…

"…tout sera bon…"

Twelve…

"… je t'aime…"

Thirteen…

"…pour toujours et…"

But Sydney never got to hear the end. Thirteen single shots before a barrage of them assaulted her ears and thoughts, and without peering from behind the safety of the brick wall, she correctly assumed that all hell broke loose.

Forty-seven seconds and it was over. She knew because she counted, trying to keep her mind on anything but what was occurring, trying to block the sounds from her ears. It didn't work. Snarling, tearing, barking, screaming, pounding, dying… all carried to her on the howling wind. Sydney didn't need Vaughn's command to root her in her spot this time; she was frozen, couldn't have moved if she tried.

Silence.

Only the wind and the falling snow, dancing to the ground; the darkness oppressing, pushing down on her for a split second before the noises started again, the stomping of feet, the slamming of doors and the growling of an engine. The men, dogs, and the truck roared by, and moments later, silence, deathlike, found her once more.

Sydney took a deep, shaky breath, as if it were the first one she had taken for hours, and the last she would breathe ever again. She stood up and peered around the corner, darkness and silence greeting her, the wind whipping around her as if to shake her hand.

"Syd?" Vaughn's voice crackled in her ear. He sounded like he had been holding his breath the entire time, afraid that he wouldn't get an answer.

She could hear the fear and uncertainty in his voice, the sigh of relief when she responded. "They're gone."

"Syd…" He paused there, needing a second to compose himself, to sort his thoughts, his emotions.

"Vaughn." _It's okay, Vaughn. It's always okay... I promise... I love you._ God, she wanted so much to return to him, to fly into his grasp…

"Get out of there, Syd. Come back." She could tell he was straining to keep control, to stay at his post and not to run to her. She could tell that he wanted to have her in his arms just as much as she wanted to be enveloped in his. "Please."

As much as she wanted to, she knew that she couldn't. She knew that she couldn't turn and flee, couldn't run away. Not now. Not this time. She had to see… to see who it was that…

"I have to see, Vaughn…"

It would bring her that much closer to finding out who had massacred them, who it was that had those documents, the documents that were so important as to cause so many deaths.

"No, Sydney. Please, no."

There was something out there. Something out there that would give her a clue, that was pulling her towards the area even as Vaughn was begging her to run away. An unseen force had lassoed her, yanking her toward the destruction that she didn't want to see, wasn't even sure if she could stomach. And she didn't know why. It wasn't as if she had never seen anything like this before. But…

"Sydney, you don't know when they might come back."

Eerily, the wind stilled for a moment, silence descending like the now thickly falling snow. A shiver ran up Sydney's spine, but she didn't feel the cold. Something carried its way through the stillness, taking advantage of the momentary absence of wind to fight its way through the snowflakes. She couldn't place it, not at first…an animal howling, the wind playing tricks far away, the dogs returning… a whisper, a murmur, a tiny cry off in the distance, quieting just as quickly as it had crept up on her.

"There's something out there."

"Please, Syd. Just get the hell out of there."

Picking her way through the dark, tiptoeing around the bodies, glad the night cloaked their faces, wishing they weren't there. Snow was falling thickly now, trying to sugarcoat the scene; the dark shrouding it, covering what was there. But not completely.

The solitary light bulb humming above the door of the building, throwing light where none should fall: a pool of blood; a silent scream forever petrified; a vacant eyeball, once so full of life, now frozen in fear until the end of time. Sydney found her way into the small circle of soft light and knelt beside the figure sprawled across the concrete steps. A woman, younger even than herself, almost a child… with four bullet holes ripped through her chest.

Reaching up with shaking fingers, her gloves protecting them from the cold but not the numbness, Sydney gently closed the woman's mouth and eyes, bringing an end to her terrified grimace and leaving her in peace. She took a shuddering breath, her gaze still fixed on the woman before her, unable to identify her, her knowledge of Russian organizations and leaders failing her for a moment, leaving her unable to fathom who she might be.

A rustling in the dry, nearly dead bushes made her leap in the air, pistol poised, instantly at the ready. It repeated itself as she trained her aim in that direction, the wind instantly picking up as she did so, shrieking with even more fury than it had before, blinding her with frigid air and snow.

"Vaughn?" she whispered harshly and loudly, willing at once for her voice to be heard over the wind, but not to carry too far, realizing in an instant that coming this way had been futile, that she should have listened to him when he told her to run the hell away.

He didn't answer.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, her blood racing through her veins. Without realizing the absurdity of the idea, Sydney began to think that he was ignoring her, angry with her for not following his orders, forgetting that he would never intentionally leave her on her own. Ever.

Unfazed, she pressed onward, concentrating now not on tiptoeing _around_ the bodies, but just not stepping directly _on_ them. The wind and blinding snow making even that nearly impossible as she faltered and tripped through the street. Nudging and stepping over them, whispering apologies that weren't heard. It was like the death march, like she was the last survivor on the battlefield. Except she was a traitor, a coward… she hadn't fought. But still she trudged on; her internal compass and instinct led her to the bushes, weapon still trained on whatever danger lurked within them.

"Vaughn?… Please…" she tried again, needing more than ever to hear the sweet sound of his voice, feel him, taste him, see him… She needed him to kiss away the hurt, the fear, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach…

She moved the dry branches of the bush aside with fumbling fingers, just as her com-link let out an ear-piercing squeal, breaking her concentration just when she needed it most. The high-pitched squawking subsided to the soft crackle of static. The line was dead.

Sydney swore under her breath, her heart skipping a beat as she lost her direct connection to Vaughn, her blood turning to ice at the thought of being without him, of him worrying about her.

It only took a fraction of a second for her to regain her senses and poise, to fully move the stubborn branches aside and plunge the barrel of her weapon within the gap, pointing at whatever was inside. Her heart was pounding, threatening to break her ribs, betray her, give her fear away.

She hastily blinked the snowflakes out of her eyelashes, trying desperately to see through the inky blackness. The world seemed in slow motion, glimmering in and out of focus. Her heart beating impossibly faster, egged on by the unknown, the knowledge that she could very well be dead in seconds. Her eyes widening as the earth shimmered into focus, stinging as they became more exposed to the biting gusts of air.

"Oh my God…"

~~~

Here are the translations of Vaughn's French, at least according to AltaVista, with a little help from my friend. I don't speak it, so I'm sorry if they're awful: "It's okay… It'll be okay… Just stay… Please, Sydney… Please… Please, don't move… For me, Sydney… It'll be okay… I love you… Forever and…"

So, what do you think? Should I quite while I'm ahead, or do you want more? The chapters will get better (and fluffier) after this, I promise…


	2. Deep Breaths

Wrestling Emotions

~~~

Thanks for all the great reviews, guys. I'm glad you like it so far…

~~~

Chapter 2: Deep Breaths 

Frozen water. Crystallized ice. Little pieces clumped together to form an intricate pattern, the quick but careful handiwork of Mother Nature, its lacy design different from any that had ever been made before and any that would come. Falling from the safety of a soft cloud, flung out into the unknown, the harsh, steel-gray sky. Fighting the wind, wrestling through its brothers and friends, being pulled to and fro in a crazy erratic pathway that seemed to never want to reach the ground. But perhaps it wasn't destined for that, because it never did join those multitudes of other snowflakes that made up the few inches of frozen whiteness already covering the ground.

The little snowflake came to a stop on the windshield of a parked, nondescript van, stinking to the others before being carelessly thrown away by the windshield wipers. It caught Vaughn's eye for just a moment before he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, shaking his head at the driver's questioning glance and then spinning and returning to the back of the vehicle.

It had been twelve minutes since he had last heard Sydney speak. Twelve longer than normal, agonizingly painful minutes, that seemed more like days, months, years, eternities. There had been a sharp gust of wind, enough to cause the van to shudder and to send a shivering chill up his spine. His com-link had crackled, snapping quickly to silence, not even giving him a chance to answer, think, plead, consider, pray. And he hadn't heard from Sydney since.

_It was the wind. It was the wind. It was the wind._ He kept telling himself that, but he could never make himself completely believe it, no matter what he tried. _She was alone out there. The murderers had left. She hadn't been captured._ _It was only the wind. It had to have been the wind. Please let it be the wind…_

Any sound, any noise from outside or within caused him to jump to the back door and swing it open, hoping that he would come face to face with her bright smile and be able to safely help her inside. But the only thing that had been accomplished by this gesture was a sharp drop in temperature inside the van and a dusting of snow on the cold metal floor. She was never out there. It was always the wind.

He wasn't going to last through much longer of this… this not knowing. It was killing him inside, imagining what they could have, could be doing to her. That she might be lying on the ground, her blood turning the snow a deep red, melting it.

Deep breaths. In and out and in again… Counting in between. It takes time and requires your mind to be elsewhere, focusing on the numbers and their correct order, not how Sydney's lifeless body would look in the snow.

Tension building, mounting, suffocating. He had been able to sit through the first minute, waiting for the com-link to turn back on. The second followed, the same as the first. The third, fourth, and fifth still carrying the hope that her voice would crackle to him through the wind, through the deathly silent headphones that he began to loathe with a fatal passion.

But five quickly moved on, to six, seven, and eight. And with each passing moment, he had to try harder and harder to keep his breathing normal, to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest, and the questions, considerations and possibilities from springing forth from his now way overactive imagination and into the forefront of his mind.

The howling of the wind gave him the sudden itching, burning temptation to again open the door, to hope he'd see her smiling face there. _Maybe she's there. She could be there. It must be her because no one else is out there. No one but… the wind. It's only the wind._

A deep breath. Tapping fingers. A deathlike glare at his silent headphones. _It's only the wind, only the wind, the wind…_

Silently giving into the temptation, he stood up and slid into his coat, opening the door of the van and stepping out into the midst of the storm. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting them adjust to the sudden snap of frozen air, the wind and the snowflakes vying for the chance to sting his cheeks, to steal his breath.

Slowly, he opened them, hoping beyond hope that he'd see her before him, that she'd be laughing, telling him he shouldn't worry. The wind roaring with increasing speed and fury, carrying other sounds to him, sounds that could be…

"Syd!"

Frigid and dry, his cupped hands framing his mouth as he shouted, dying for an answer. But she wasn't there. Nothing was there but the wind and the snow and the desolate place before him, the field where they had parked the van so as not to attract the attention of the guards that should have been patrolling the compound.

Softly and languidly, like a dream, a nightmare, the noises became clearer, more than just rumblings in the wind. Dogs growling and barking, men shouting. Vaughn knew if he was closer, he would hear the dogs' jaws snapping shut, their teeth clinking, sharp and lethal. He felt as if they had torn his heart out, gnawing on it as if it were the first and last thing they would ever eat. And he could still feel the pain, sharp and aching, without and within.

In and out. Slowly. Carefully. One deep breath after another. Fighting against the frigid temperature and forcing air into his lungs, almost choking, almost crying. Not allowing either to happen. Somehow maintaining control.

He had no idea if those beasts, both dogs and men, were moving closer, if they had already found their prey. Something caught his eye through the blinding snow, another sound traveling to his ears. He braced himself against it, ready for the growling and shouting, the stamping of feet. But this was different, a crying, shrieking, howling, as if someone, something, were trying to echo the wind, succeeding with the chilling perfection of its mimicry.

The figure approached, progress slow and steady. He had thought he had seen Sydney too many times to be fooled into seeing her again, thought he had heard her speak enough silent words to fill a conversation. But it had all been fake, time and time again. Through every singe one of those twelve minutes and carrying onward. And he wasn't going to let himself be disappointed this time. Not again.

He raised his gun to the figure, waiting for a cue, for it to grow into a pack of snarling dogs and men, for it to stampede to him, for fiery bullets to pour his way. He waited for it to disappear, a mirage, a trick of the blustering snow.

The growling he heard in his mind turned into a sound almost familiar, the stamping feet he should have been hearing instead, spelling out his name. "Vaughn!"

Soaring to him over the snow, finding its way to his ears through the wind. Never had he heard a sweeter sound, never had he wished with a greater passion that his dream would morph into reality. The dark figure steadily approaching, still solitary, almost clear enough to be seen now, a dark jacket, hair whipping around in the wind…

"Vaughn…"

And he almost died inside when he realized that he had been aiming his weapon in the face of the only woman he had ever, could ever love. Wanted to shoot himself because he hadn't recognized her, hadn't let himself be fooled into the truth, had almost sunk a fatal piece of metal through her flesh, piercing her heart…

"Sydney… Oh God, Sydney…"

He ran the remaining feet to her, even though it wouldn't have taken long to walk, repeating her name over and over. He couldn't stand to have her away from him for another minute, another second, any amount of time that would have prolonged it from becoming the present. Relief washed over him as he finally allowed himself to breathe, taking in her scent as he buried his head in the crook of her neck and threw his arms around her, not noticing how she was hunched over, that something in her arms prevented her from hugging him back.

"Careful…"

Concern flashed through his eyes. Sydney couldn't see it in the dark, but she knew it was there, knew that his forehead wrinkles had returned with greater fury, that all the not so old fears had crept back into his head. He gingerly took his arms from around her, holding her back so he could try to look into her eyes, to see the emotions that played there, whether he could pick out the pain, see the blood. But it was too dark, so inky and desolate that for a second he almost doubted the reality of her presence, thought that maybe she wasn't there at all.

"Are you okay?"

Fear, utter panic and the need to control it, turned his voice into a whisper unable to be heard over the relentless wind. But she had understood without the sound of his words, nodding and kissing him softly as reassurance, fighting the wind that sought to tear them apart. Only then did he notice that they should probably go inside, that any conversation would be futile out in these elements, that she had been in this brutal wind for too long, and was probably shaking with cold.

"Vaughn…" she murmured before he could motion her inside. He seemed to feel the word more than hear it, such soft murmurings not standing a chance in this storm, swallowed whole almost before they were spoken. He tried to look into her eyes, watching as she dipped her head downward. Only then did he notice that her jacket was unzipped, the wind biting through the thin material of her shirt, piercing her skin with icy needles, piercing his heart at the same time. Sydney's teeth were chattering, and she tried to pull her jacket tighter around her, giving him only a shadow of a glance at what he thought he saw inside.

Vaughn silently ushered her into the van, his questioning glance and jumbled words all that were needed to elicit a response from her once they were inside.

"Syd… what…?"

She unwrapped her coat, completely revealing the little boy that belonged to the windblown hair and dark, feverish eyes he had glimpsed for only a fraction of a second outside. The child was tiny, his boots and coat clean if somewhat worn, his little corduroy pants patched at the knees. He let out a tiny cry, rubbing his tear-streaked face into Sydney's neck. She held him tighter, rocking him slowly back and forth, calming the sheer terror that had invaded his eyes, quieting the hiccupping sighs of fear and exhaustion that rattled his chest.

"He was in the bushes," she explained softly. "The only one left."

"All the others?"

Sydney shook her head, her bottom lip trembling; she was struggling to stay compartmentalized, to remain in control. Vaughn would have taken her in his arms right then and there, but was stopped by the tiny child held tightly within her own arms, unsure what to make of him, wondering if he would break if he got too close. 

"He was crying when I found him," she continued. "I don't know how he got away."

He knew she didn't want to, didn't need to add that one crucial word to the end of her sentence. Alive. They both knew it was there, hanging heavily in the air between them. He didn't press that subject, delving further into what seemed to be a more pressing issue. "Who is he?"

"I don't know."

She had thrust her gun into the bushes, preparing to squeeze the trigger at any second, ready to either kill or die. Her heart had almost stopped when she found the barrel of her weapon pressed against a two-year-old's skull. Shock and disbelief taking over for only a moment before she quickly holstered her gun, pulling the child into her arms, and hurrying away, not even stopping to consider any other options. 

"Who are… were they?" he asked finally, knowing not to question as to whether she had the documents; not wanting to, but needing to discover if she knew anything else. He could avoid it now, but she would only be asked later, and by someone with less tact and feeling. And it was protocol to get as much information as quickly as possible. Damn protocol.

"I don't know," she answered again, fainter this time, her eyes dulling as she glanced once more down at the child in her arms. "I wish I knew his name…"

"It's okay, Syd. It's okay," Vaughn murmured, moving closer to her and brushing his lips across her temple. "God, you're freezing." He brushed his fingers lightly across the boy's cheek, not daring to press any harder. "Both of you."

The child yawned, quiet now, and fighting to keep his eyes open. Sydney shifted his weight in her arms. Somehow, the boy felt comfortable, safe there, making an instant connection with his savior. But even his tiny body was become too much for the physically and emotionally drained Sydney to hold on to.

"Here," Vaughn offered, pulling a crate from a corner of the van and dumping out its contents, securing it back its corner and placing his coat inside. It wasn't perfect, but it would work, and it was the best they could do for now.

Sydney laid the little boy in this makeshift crib, grabbing a blanket from the back of a chair, the one that was there for her to wrap around herself after such chilling and frigid missions, and gently tucked it around him. He held his eyes open for a few seconds longer, gazing steadfastly into Sydney's, all terror completely washed away, before succumbing to exhaustion and closing them with a contented sigh.

Vaughn softly signaled to the driver to slowly and carefully start to the airport, alerting him of their extra passenger, and helped Sydney up. He sat in a chair and pulled her into his lap, finally allowing himself a shuddering, heart-wrenching breath, so glad that she was finally in his arms.

"God, Syd…"

And that was all it took for her to break as well, to flick the switch that turned her back into Sydney from Agent Bristow, filling her with the emotion she had been struggling to suppress.

"Vaughn…" she whimpered, burying her head in his neck, silently permitting the tears to fall.

Vaughn put a hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her damp hair. He had known it would only be a matter of time before she broke down. It happened whenever a mission went badly, and sometimes even when it didn't, when she let her life catch up with her. He would find her soaking in the bathtub, preparing dinner in the kitchen, curled up in bed. She would be lost in her tears, and he would help her find herself again.

"All of them," she continued. "They're all… all…"

"Shh, baby, it's all right."

He could feel her hot tears sliding down his neck, her arms clasping impossibly tighter around him, threatening to bruise his skin. But he didn't care. His own arms were just as tight around her still chilled body, but no matter how near they were, it wasn't enough; she kept trying to get close.

"No, Vaughn… They're all dead… And I didn't even…"

"Sydney," he interrupted gently, "there's nothing you could have done. _Nothing_."

She tried to protest, the words not finding their way through her tears, stopped for just a moment as emotion took over and she was unable to gather her thoughts. Sometimes he thought that getting through those difficult missions sapped too much of her strength, that she was left weak and powerless, prey to passions that were suddenly too forceful for her, for anyone, to control.

"I'm not going to let you convince yourself that this was your fault." _Not this time. Not ever again._

Sydney would never, could never believe that it wasn't. There was always something else that she could have tried, something she could have done differently. Here… here she hadn't done anything at all, he hadn't let her. And it was killing her inside.

"I could have… I could have helped…. But I didn't save any of them."

"You saved him, Syd," Vaughn told her, nodding in direction of the sleeping boy, wishing that that one life would be enough to satisfy her, that her voice would return to normal, that she would smile, that the guilt would take a break from its meal, would stop eating her alive.

"Out of how many?" she whispered harshly, shaking her head against him. He should have known that it wouldn't have been enough. "Only one…"

"Two," Vaughn murmured, disrupting her words and thoughts, silencing her. "Syd… you don't know how many times I thought I lost you."

She quieted then, her chest rising and falling against his, her heart beating in time with his own. The moment was hushed, each holding the other tightly, afraid to let go, to loosen their grip, trying desperately to capture the moment instead of letting time carry on, losing it forever.

Her voice was strangled when she finally spoke, as if it had to fight to free itself from her chest, to leave her lips. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Vaughn… I'm sorry…"

"No. Don't talk like that, Syd. It's okay. It's going to be okay…"

She didn't answer, couldn't; could only tighten her grip, a multitude of thoughts scrambling through her head, unable to make themselves heard. But they didn't need to be. Her lack of words spoke volumes, her silence was enough.

He took his arms from around her, gently pulling her head off his shoulder so that his hands could frame her face. His thumbs wiped away her tears, his eyes never leaving hers, telling her it would be all right. She was starting to calm already, but not enough to satisfy him. He kissed the paths that the tears had made down her cheeks, ending with his lips just a breath away from hers, close enough so that they were sharing air, sharing life.

Vaughn captured her lips quickly, carefully; pulling her closer and running his fingers through her hair. Sydney sighed into him, releasing all the pain and frustration, letting him help her fight away the fear embedded within her, within them both. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as she kissed him back, raining down in a rainbow of sparks like they always did, but new and different, better every time. He pulled away only when he ran out of breath, only when his lungs were screaming for air and he wouldn't have lasted another second. Sydney loosened her grip on him, finally deciding that he wouldn't vanish if she let go, and leaned calmly against his chest.

"Okay?" Vaughn asked quietly, needing confirmation, needing to be sure.

"Thank you," she whispered with a sigh. "Always." _I couldn't live without you. You complete me, make me whole… I… I…_

But he beat her to it, giving breath and life to those words she had been trying, struggling, fighting, wanting, screaming to say. "I love you, Syd."

"Really?"

It was a quiet question, uncertainty abounding, trickling forth from her and reaching his heart.

"Yeah, really. Of course, really. Why do you…?"

She didn't understand why she couldn't fathom it. Maybe it was because the life of a spy had trained her not to trust others… But no, she did trust him, with all her heart, all her soul, all her being. Maybe it was because she didn't think she was deserving of anyone's love, of his especially. She had hurt, she had killed… She didn't deserve it. But that's not what he told her. Or maybe, just maybe, she didn't think it was possible for another person on this earth to pour forth as much emotion as she was, to feel the same way, with such passion, longing, and desire. She was so crazy in love. It wasn't possible for anyone to feel the same way. I couldn't be… But it was.

Vaughn could feel her smile into his chest. He loved that feeling, cherished it. Always. She had found herself completely again.

"I love you, too."

"Really?" he teased, sensing that it was okay to now, that she wouldn't break, that she was once again strong and whole.

"Yes, really," she answered, sitting up and giving him a quick peck on the lips, returning once again to the sweet, gorgeous (although she had never stopped being that), powerful woman he saw her as everyday. "What do you think we should do?"

"About the boy?" he asked, easily following her train of thought.

Sydney nodded, turning her gaze in the child's direction. For a moment, Vaughn thought he saw her eyes flash with the fear and guilt that had only just left them. But if it had been there, even for a tiny spark of time, it disappeared just as quickly. She smiled as she turned back to face him. 

Vaughn leaned forward, training his eyes on the sleeping child. What do you do with a little boy you picked up in the middle of the nowhere, who sprung out of a storm? They had no idea who he was, who might or might not be looking for him… "Should we take off his coat?" he asked after a moment, turning back to the woman in his arms.

"Vaughn, I meant when we get back to LA. What's the CIA going to do with him? How will we find out who he is, who he belongs to?"

"I'm serious, Syd," Vaughn responded, ignoring her questions, even though the same ones had been firing themselves within him just moments before. "He looks like he's hot."

At this, Sydney slid off his lap to kneel beside the child. Vaughn followed her, pressing his body against hers in the cramped space of the van. "See?" he continued. "His cheeks are red."

"It could just be windburn," Sydney reasoned, glancing at him for confirmation.

Vaughn shrugged. Plunk him down in his office and he could come up with a desk full of counter-missions, but with this, he was completely clueless.

Sydney turned back to the boy, bringing a gentle hand to his forehead. "But he is a little warm… Is it warm enough in here, do you think? To take his coat off?"

"I'll turn the heat up," Vaughn answered, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. He moved to the other side of the van as Sydney tenderly lifted the boy. The child sighed in his sleep, but did not awaken.

Sydney unzipped his coat and began to remove it; the child not stirring throughout the process. Vaughn stood with his back to her, fiddling with the temperature controls, about to ask her how she did it, how she knew exactly what to do. But she spoke first, calling his name.

"Vaughn…"

He turned around instantly, noting the urgency in her tone. She held up a few quickly and messily folded papers, stains and watermarks marring the once white paper, their edges yellowed with time. Sydney placed the boy softly back in his makeshift bed, unfolding the papers with shaking hands to reveal an old floppy disk, its identity unmistakable.

Vaughn's eyes met hers, never leaving them as he reached for his phone, dialing the number before she even took a breath to speak her next words.

"Call Devlin. Tell him we have the documents."


	3. Drooping Eyelids

Wrestling Emotions 

Chapter 3: Drooping Eyelids

Vaughn hung up the phone after a hurried conversation with Devlin. The call had been cut short by the inclement weather, but Vaughn had been able to relay the pertinent information to his boss, and receive the answer to the question that he could see burning in Sydney's eyes.

"We're taking him to LA."

Sydney nodded matter-of-factly. Despite her curiosity, she had somehow already known that that would be the answer. She tried to stifle a yawn, the physically and emotionally draining action of the mission and the warmth of the van beginning to catch up with her, lulling her to sleep. Vaughn took her in his arms once again, rocking her gently back and forth, and whispering a jumble of English and French in her ear that was better than any lullaby.

After he was sure she was asleep, he lapsed into silence, and the ride to the airport was silent, relatively speaking. Except for the hum of the engine, the howling wind, the occasional click of the windshield wipers, and soft sighs from the two sleeping passengers in the back, not a sound could be heard.

For some reason, Vaughn was wide awake. Simply content to have Sydney safe in his arms, afraid that if he fell asleep, he would wake up to find it all a dream. Instead, he watched her sleep, her soft sighing breath and the steady beating of her heart captivating him, amazing him. He never wanted to fall asleep again. This was better than any dream he could ever have.

All too soon, the van came to a complete stop. Vaughn waited until the engine sputtered out before softly nudging the sleeping form in his arms, knowing that rest was often hard to come by for Sydney, that she needed every moment she could get. But even more, not wanting to end this peaceful moment, knowing that such tranquility was hard for either of them to find, even in their dreams.

With his gentle nudges and soft words, her eyes fluttered open, confusion immediately evident in her still tired face, manifesting itself in her blinking, questioning eyes.

"Russia," Vaughn murmured, kissing the side of her head softly and giving her time to fully wake up. "We're at the airport."

She nodded, not yet quite capable of intelligent speech. Rubbing her eyes and stretching for a moment, she finally turned in his arms, her sleep-filled eyes meeting his. "Are we going to be able to leave?"

"I'll find out," he answered, knowing better than to pretend that he had already considered this question himself. He had been looking forward to going home with such a passion, that he had forgotten about the snow and wind that were waging war right outside the warm safety of the van.

Vaughn quickly put on his coat and exited the van, glad that the snow was not as blinding as it had been, and that the brightness of the airport lights fought away the penetrating darkness. He found the pilot, acquired an answer to Sydney's question, and returned to the van.

Sydney knelt by the still-sleeping child, glancing up as Vaughn came back inside and noting that only a few snowflakes had to be shaken off his jacket. She let him catch the breath that the frosty night air had stolen away, smoothing her hair back behind her ears with a fidgeting hand.

"The wind's not as bad and the snow's letting up," Vaughn reported, noting the return of Sydney's nervous habit and wishing that he had all the time in the world to allay her fears, soothing her nerves so that she would never have to worry about anything ever again. "The pilot says he's willing to give it a shot."

Not many people would be content with the fact that their airplane pilot was "willing to give it a shot," when it came to flying their plane, but this was all the two agents had had the optimism to hope for. Sydney just wanted to go home, crawl into bed (with Vaughn, of course), and stay there for days. She didn't care if their pilot started doing air stunts to get them off the ground and keep them airborne, as long as they got to LA.

Her eyes swept across the inside of the van, landing on the child's sleeping figure. "We don't have a car seat for him," Sydney commented, thinking aloud. _She could have survived an almost interminably long plane ride full of loops and sudden twists, but that wasn't possible with this little boy. Having a child's well-being on her hands threw all the risks she was usually more than willing to take out the window._

"It's late…"

"And we'll be lucky to find _anything_ open, much less a store that sells baby supplies in the middle of Siberia," Sydney finished for him, sighing.

Vaughn smiled, holding her coat up for her and helping her shrug into it. "Pretty much. Although…" 

"Vaughn…" She turned to face him, shaking her head, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "We are _not_ going to find some pub or tavern…"

"It was just a suggestion," he shrugged, grinning and inwardly jumping for joy when her face mirrored his own. "We'll manage. He'll be okay."

Sydney nodded, scooping the boy up, and Vaughn helped her shelter him within her coat. The poor child was so utterly exhausted that he barely moved throughout the ordeal, remaining fast asleep as they maneuvered him back into his own coat, and then inside of Sydney's.

Vaughn's skeptical glance must have conveyed his somewhat less than optimistic thoughts. He found Sydney's eyes smiling into his own as she brought her free hand up to his cheek. "Don't worry," she murmured. "He's breathing. I can feel it."

He kissed her hand before threading his gloved fingers through her own. He found himself wishing that they could stay here forever, almost suggesting that they just forget it and not get on the plane. But then he opened the van's back door and was hit by a blast of icy air. Cursing whatever gods had decided to let this particular mission take place in Siberia instead of someplace, anyplace with a warmer climate, he stepped out into the cold, forgetting that just seconds before, he hadn't wanted to leave, and now wanting more than anything to never have to come back.

"Let's go."

~~~

They arrived in LA after what felt like days, time having decided not to fly with them and instead drag along behind. Sydney had kept the child in her arms almost the entire time, fighting to stay awake so she could keep a steady grip on him. Vaughn had convinced her after the first few hours to pass the sleeping boy over to him, giving Sydney a few hours of sleep. He had been scrutinizing the child's still fiery red cheeks with concern, trying unsuccessfully to determine whether such a color could be considered normal, when the boy's dark eyes had snapped open. Immediately, he had let out a piercing wail, startling Sydney out of her slumber.

This time, she had awakened with amazing speed, relieving an extremely tense Vaughn of his little charge within moments. Miraculously, the little boy had quieted when he found himself in Sydney's arms, resting a glowing cheek against her shoulder and inserting a thumb into his mouth, sucking on it wildly as his feverish eyes observed the man sitting in the next seat.

Unable to take such intense scrutiny even from the tiny child, Vaughn had figured that this would be as good a time as any to see if he could find something for them to eat, and ask the pilot when they would be arriving in LA.

But they had finally arrived, and in what could actually be considered good time. They took a car from LAX straight to CIA headquarters, Sydney remarking that for once she was glad for the tinted windows, since they still didn't have a car seat and would have probably caught the eye of more than one disapproving person. Vaughn made sure that the driver went slowly, taking almost twice as long to travel the relatively short distance to the CIA building.

The boy was fully awake by the time they walked through the front doors, but luckily too young to comprehend the myriad of strange glances shooting in his direction. His thumb still lodged securely in his mouth as his large, serious eyes surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings, meeting those questioning gazes and quickly dismissing them.

Whispers swirled around them, as the many who were not aware of the outcome of this particular mission quickly flitted out of their way, shushing to silence as they approached. Sydney glanced up at Vaughn, the frustration building in her eyes. He smiled wryly and led her through the hallway to Devlin's office.

Weiss noticed them walk past, running after them with shouted greetings. He nearly choked on his coffee when Sydney turned around, revealing the child snuggled in her arms, but quick to recover, his eyes dancing.

"You guys were only gone for what? Two days? Talk about acting quickly…"

"Funny, Weiss." Sydney's tone in itself was almost enough to cause death. She was trying desperately to forget that she could probably count the number of hours of sleep she had gotten in the past forty-eight hours on one hand. Patience was never something she had in abundance, and now…

"Syd found him in Russia," Vaughn cut in, both he and the child that was held in Sydney's arms saving his friend from most certain harm. To say that Vaughn had gotten more sleep on the plane than Sydney would be a gross understatement. Couple that with the fact that he had spent less time out in the cold and in immediate danger, and… In other words, he was in a much better mood.

"So you just picked him up?"  Weiss had either not been given information or hadn't thought it necessary to pay attention during the briefing. Both were equally plausible, but for some reason, Vaughn found himself leaning toward the second explanation.

"He had the documents," Vaughn stated with a shrug. 

"We couldn't have just left him there to freeze," Sydney added, rocking the child back and forth in an effort to somehow make him seem less heavy. 

The boy had perked up as Weiss approached, but dropped his head back to Sydney's shoulder. His big eyes blinking languidly as he and Weiss surveyed each other, thumb held securely in his mouth as he snuggled closer to Sydney and sighed.

"Looks like you have some competition, buddy," Weiss said with a laugh, nodding in Vaughn's direction. "This little guy sure has it for Syd."

"Eric…" But the creaking of an opening door stopped Vaughn from going any further.

A hush fell over the hallway as Devlin stepped out into it, inferior agents scrambling to get out of the way while still remaining within earshot. "Is this the child?"

"Yes, sir," Sydney answered, deciding that it would not be a good idea to ask her boss what other child he thought they would be carrying into the CIA building. She needed sleep or coffee, preferably both and as soon as humanly possible.

"And here are the documents that were in his jacket," Vaughn added, handing over the papers and disk.

Devlin examined the objects for a few moments, nodding. "Agent Weiss," he began, passing the things to him, "Take these down to Tech and see what they can make of them. Come to me if they find anything."

Weiss left with a sigh. Vaughn knew he had been hoping he could stay, wanting to satisfy his curiosity with what he would consider the more interesting details of the mission. Specifically what might have happened on the flights there and back. But he would have to wait until later, and even then, he should know what the answer would be. The same one Vaughn gave him every time no matter what: nothing. Whether Weiss believed him or not was anyone's guess.

Devlin ushered Sydney and Vaughn into his office, where a short man was waiting, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his gray hair sticking out in all directions and his glasses sitting crookedly on the edge of his nose.

"This is Dr. Ethan Sumter," Devlin said, introducing them. "Agents Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn, and the child they picked up in Russia."

The doctor smiled in greeting, adjusting his thick glasses and sticking out his hand. "Bristow and Vaughn, huh? I've heard of you two…"

Sydney couldn't control the rush of blood that swam to her cheeks. Many of their introductions began this way, and ended with a knowing smile or a wink from their less than well-mannered coworkers. Evidently, word had spread rather thoroughly throughout the CIA, and everyone, from the highest-level agent to the janitor who cleaned the bathrooms in the lobby, was itching to meet those two agents who had blindly broken protocol… and were somehow good enough to manage not getting fired.

But Dr. Sumter skipped all gossip and went straight to the conclusion, to both Sydney and Vaughn's relief. "You work well together. A real team."

"Thank you," Vaughn murmured, not knowing what else to say.

"You shouldn't have heard of me, though," the doctor continued, smiling widely. "I'm new here. Just started two, no thr… sixteen days ago. Came down from Seattle with the wife. Kids are all grown up now…" He circled Sydney as he spoke, viewing the little boy from every side, often tilting his head to get a better angle. "He's awfully quiet, isn't he?"

"He's cried a few times since Sy… Agent Bristow found him," Vaughn offered. "Not for awhile, though."

"But he hasn't spoken a word," Sydney added. "Russian or otherwise."

"Dr. Sumter's going to head the team of agents examining the boy," Devlin explained, picking up a folder from his desk. "You two are free to leave. You can have the rest of today and tomorrow off. I want you to email me a write-up of your mission as soon as possible, and we'll have a formal briefing upon your return."

"I'll just take him…" Dr. Sumter cut in before either of the agents could respond, gesturing to the child in Sydney's arms and removing him from her grasp.

Alarmed, the boy took his thumb out of his mouth, his eyes darting back and forth from Sydney to the doctor, one receiving a look of pure terror, the other, betrayal. His bottom lip quivered and his mouth finally opened, letting out a scream of panic. The poor doctor tried everything he could think of to comfort the boy: playing peek-a-boo, "stealing" his nose, and talking like Donald Duck; but nothing worked. Neither he nor Devlin seemed to notice how the child threw his arms out to Sydney, directing his hurt and horror filled eyes in her direction, pleading with her for help.

Guilt oozing through her veins, unable to take the child's screams of panic or alarmed, guilt-filled looks any longer, Sydney reached over and plucked him from Dr. Sumter's arms, whispering to him in Russian as she rocked him gently back and forth, not knowing or caring if he understood. The boy flung his arms around Sydney's neck, nearly strangling her with his grip; he buried his face in her shoulder, staining her shirt with his wet cheeks, his tears subsiding.

The four adults stood in silence for a few moments, the child's sniffling sighs the only sound that could be heard. Vaughn stood as close to Sydney as he could within his boss' view, wishing that Devlin would leave and he could put his arms around her, help her, add to her strength.

Finally, Dr. Sumter cleared his throat. "Miss Bristow, I know Mr. Devlin gave you the rest of the day off, but…"

"I'll stay."

"Good. Thank you," Dr. Sumter sighed, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his forehead and once again adjusting his glasses.

Vaughn fidgeted, wrestling with himself as to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Devlin for permission to stay with Sydney. He had decided the moment she had spoken, that he was going to stay no matter what. The question was whether he sought out Devlin's consent, or simply stayed on his own, not taking the chance of being denied permission and having to disobey his boss' orders. He took a breath to speak, but it was unnecessary.

Devlin had taken one glance at the dark circles underneath Sydney's eyes and the concern within Vaughn's, and decided that he should make one more request. He had tried not to openly encourage the relationship that had found its way into these two agents' lives, linking them together, but their work and personal lives were so intertwined that sometimes that was all but impossible.

"Perhaps, Agent Vaughn, it would be helpful to Agent Bristow if you were to stay as well."

~~~

Vaughn stood by the door of the examining room, giving up any appearance of his straight-laced agent façade, and loosening his tie and leaning against the wall. They had been there for hours. In the first few minutes, he had been able to keep himself occupied by getting Sydney coffee and something to eat, but the majority of his time had been spent simply trying to stay out of the way.

"… and record height and weight. Temperature is 100.7. Mark that Baby John Doe was administered Infant's Tylenol, and…"

"Baby John Doe?" a voice whispered in Vaughn's ear. "Shouldn't they call him Dmitri or Vladimir or something? Don't they have a Russian form of John?"

"Weiss," Vaughn groaned, suppressing a laugh. "What are you doing down here?"

"The tech guy wasn't looking and I escaped." Weiss paused, looking over his shoulder and glancing quickly down the hallway. "Those guys are weird. Wanted me to validate every single one of their hypotheses. You might not know this, Mike, but I don't speak Russian."

"Someone with an IQ as high as yours?" Vaughn couldn't help asking, shaking his head in mock incredulity. "I can't believe it."

"Your little girlfriend has us both in that department," Weiss continued. "Added together… or maybe even…"

"In what department?" Sydney asked, appearing next to Vaughn. The boy had calmed enough so that she could leave his side without a problem, just as long as she was within his view, a limitation they quickly discovered when she had tried to excuse herself to use the bathroom.

"That, and she could kick both our asses." Weiss surveyed Sydney's tired face. "Even when she looks… "

"Absolutely gorgeous," Vaughn chimed in, deciding that no one else could hear them and this was a much-needed save. Sydney gave him a small smile; she knew she was anything but gorgeous at this moment, but he reaffirmed it. "Really."

"Right," Weiss agreed, eyes widening as he noticed his mistake quite awhile after everyone else. "I should probably go before that Tech guy looks up and notices that I'm gone. See ya, Syd." He was gone before either of them could utter a response.

Sydney turned to face Vaughn, her upraised eyebrows clearly portraying her confusion. "What was…?"

"Ivan!" Weiss called breathlessly, poking his head in the door. Dr. Sumter and his assistants looked up from their work, wondering what the sudden outburst was all about. "Sorry…" Weiss whispered loudly, then lowering his voice even further as they returned to what they had been doing. "Ivan, John. John, Ivan. Now we only need to figure out the Russian equivalent for…"

A nasally voice called his name from down the hallway, the sound of it reverberating off the walls. Apparently, the Tech guys had noticed that he was missing.

"Oh, crap…" And just like before, he disappeared, leaving a curious mixture of amusement and confusion simmering behind him.

"What the _hell_ was that?" Sydney asked after a moment, more than a little bewildered. Lack of sleep had already clouded her usually sharp mind, and Weiss' antics weren't helping.

"Nothing," Vaughn answered, deciding that it would take way too long to explain the inner workings of Weiss' mind and that changing the subject was a much better course of action. "How's it going over there?"

"Almost done," Sydney sighed gratefully, dropping the façade for just a moment and letting him get a glimpse of how truly drained she was. But in the blink of an eye, the mask was up again, the dark circles under her eyes the only sign that she lacked any sleep. "They just need to do a spinal tap, and…"

"Miss Bristow?"

Sydney's head snapped in the direction of the voice, surprised not that Dr. Sumter was calling her name, but that the child's crying had not been the cause of it. The little boy sat silently on the table, determined to have his thumb in his mouth even though the doctor kept having to remove it to perform his tests properly.

Sydney walked over to the examining table with Vaughn at her heels. Whatever this delay was, Vaughn hoped that it would not take long. He and Sydney both needed to go home and sleep for the rest of their time off, probably the only time both of them would have remained in bed together during a vacation and not initiated other activities…

"Perhaps you can help, too, Mr. Vaughn." Dr. Sumter readjusted his glasses, only serving to make them droop to the other side of his face. "Do either of you know Russian?"

Vaughn almost laughed. Perhaps this man hadn't heard everything about Sydney Bristow: super- spy. But Sydney answered calmly, the few minutes she had spent talking with Vaughn seemed to have given her new life. "Yeah. Why?"

"Impressive…" the doctor mused, his face showing that he obviously held this fact in high esteem. After spending much more time than necessary considering this newfound information, he held up the boy's shirt. "What does this say?"

Sydney took it, examining the tag closely. Above the neatly printed fabric names and washing instructions were a few faded pen marks, barely legible on the old fabric. "Ilya," Sydney murmured, fascinated with the simplicity of it. Written on a tag…

"What?"

"Ilya," Sydney repeated louder, watching as the boy's little head snapped to face her as she said it. "His name's Ilya."

Dr. Sumter smiled radiantly, his wild hair seeming to quiver with the excitement of this discovery, as he turned to face his newly named patient. "Well, Ilya, just one more thing and then you can… Where is he going to go?" he asked, turning to face Sydney and Vaughn.

That was one thing Sydney hadn't stopped to consider. "I don't…"

"Agent Bristow." As if on cue, Devlin walked through the door, followed by a younger agent. "I was told we were almost done here. Can I see you for a minute? And Agent Vaughn, as well." He added, tacking on the name as an afterthought.

Sydney and Vaughn excused themselves and joined him at the door.

"I've been informed that aside from a slight fever, everything checks out medically, but we still don't know what this boy…"

"Ilya," Sydney interrupted him, tired of hearing the poor child referred to in that way. "We found that name written on the tag of his shirt. He answers to it."

"Oh. Very good… We still don't know what Ilya has to do with the political aspect of things. How he was left alive, how he got the documents, that sort of thing. There very well could be those out there who would kill this child if they knew he was alive. Until we know all the information behind what happened back in Russia, we can't afford to take any chances with this boy. Basically, he has two options: to stay under the care of our agents in a retaining cell here, or to be under the care of one of our agents in his or her home. Given your history with the child and under the present circumstances, I strongly suggest that that agent be you, Agent Bristow. Whether you want to take him home or care for him here is up to you."

Sydney had barely a moment to think before a piercing shriek cut through her thoughts. Dr. Sumter had started the spinal tap, sticking the needle straight into Ilya's little back. The child cried out in pain and fear, trying desperately to escape from this unknown form of torture. Three of the doctor's assistants jumped to restrain the little boy, who, although barely more than a baby, was putting up quite a fight.

Sydney watched the scene with wide eyes, fighting the sudden urge to run and comfort the child, but suddenly realizing that she didn't really know what to do. How would she explain to this little boy what he was doing here, where his family was, why it was necessary to stick a needle into his back… How could she make any of that better?

"I'll take him home," she blurted out, without any further thought, knowing only that it wasn't right to keep him in a cell like a prisoner.

By this time, Dr. Sumter had finished what he was doing, the spinal tap only taking a few seconds, but the pain and fear carrying on. He and was trying to put Ilya's clothes back on, but quickly gave up. Instead, he picked up the child and carried him over to Sydney, depositing him in her arms. This time, the pain and fear was too much for him to immediately stop crying, he was only a little boy, after all.

"Thank you, Agent Bristow." Devlin took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and handed it to Vaughn. "In there you should find sufficient funds to purchase what is needed for the child while he is in your care. You are both free to go, and for all intents and purposes, are on vacation until further notice."

Sydney couldn't do anything but nod. Devlin took that as a sufficient response, and with a murmured goodbye, he turned and left, the doctor and a few of his assistants following him to tell of their findings.

Sydney stood with the screaming child in her arms. Shivering and flailing, dressed in nothing but a diaper, the tears streaming down his cheeks, poor little Ilya had finally had enough. Just looking at him, holding him, realizing the sudden responsibilities that had been thrust upon her, hearing his crying and finding herself powerless to stop it… It was enough to make Sydney want to break down herself.

She took a shuddering breath, trying her best to console the boy, but each second finding herself closer and closer to tears. She knew how he felt. She had had enough, too, suddenly finding herself so small and alone, the world spinning out of control, seeming to mutate to something larger than she could handle…

But a hand on her shoulder reminded her that she wasn't in it by herself.

Vaughn.

He was there with her and for her. He told her and showed her that every time she found her way into his arms, the tears streaming down her face; every time she walked through the door after an especially long day; every time they touched, caressed, kissed; every time they made love…

These thoughts, his soft smile, his concerned eyes filled her with warmth for a quarter of a second. Made her think that maybe everything would be okay after all, that she would once again show herself to be the woman who could handle absolutely everything.

But a quarter of a second after her hand was placed on her shoulder, the warmth melted away, replaced by a sick, sinking feeling, like a well-placed kick jolting right to the pit of her stomach.

Vaughn.

She hadn't thought to ask him, to see what he thought, to see if it would be okay. She had forgotten that what she considered her house, her home, technically belonged to him. Sure it held all of her things; it was where she slept at night, where all her mail was delivered, where people called her on the phone. But he owned it; it was his apartment.

And he hadn't signed up for this. He hadn't agreed to take the child into _his_ home. It wasn't fair to keep the poor little boy in a retaining cell until the CIA figured out where he really belonged, but it also wasn't fair to thrust all the responsibilities of parenthood on a man who hadn't done anything to deserve them.

"Vaughn, I…" _I wasn't thinking? I should have asked you? I'm sorry? I'm sorry…_

"Syd…" Vaughn interrupted her, bringing a hand up to her cheek, smoothing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear and letting his fingers linger on the smooth skin of her neck. "Let's all go home."

For a moment, she thought she hadn't heard him right, had let her brain transform what he had actually said into what she wanted to hear. But he had said what she wanted to hear; somehow he almost always did.

Sydney couldn't stop herself from leaning in to kiss him, right in the middle of the CIA building, with agents walking in and out of the room and a still wailing baby in her arms. He met her halfway, claiming her lips as his own for a few short seconds and the rest of his life.

~~~

TBC…

If you want it, that is… Sorry that this chapter was a little slow, but it was necessary to set up for things to come. If you still don't mind reading this story, the next chapter shouldn't take that long to write, and hopefully should be better than this one was…


	4. Silly Sweet Satisfaction

Wrestling Emotions 

Chapter 4: Silly Sweet Satisfaction

He had his arm around her shoulder as he led her out of the building, not caring who saw them. Everyone knew anyway; they might as well give them an actual piece of evidence to fuel the raging fire of gossip.

And the picture that they made at that moment… Agent Bristow holding tightly to a little boy, the tiny fingers on his free hand playing gently with the fabric of her suit jacket. Agent Vaughn's arm around her, almost an oxymoron, at once overwhelmingly tender and frighteningly possessive… 

Those digging desperately for any bit of information that would fan the embers of the slowly dying fire, suddenly found themselves with enough dry timber to encircle the building in mile-high flames.

Vaughn's car was right where he had left it when they had driven to the CIA a few days earlier. Instead of flopping into the passenger seat as she usually did, waiting for him to turn on the car and immediately fiddling with the radio, Sydney froze in the parking garage, staring at the vehicle before her.

"We still don't have a car seat for him."

"Yeah," Vaughn nodded, glancing down at his watch as he opened the back door on the passenger's side, shrugging at her raised eyebrows and offering a quick explanation, "Airbags. Just in case, you know… We can stop on the way."

Sydney ducked into her seat with a smile, and Vaughn made sure both she and Ilya were well out of the way of the door before he shut it. He walked around to the other side and got in, quickly checking behind him to see if Sydney needed any help with her seatbelt before starting the car.

"What…?" Sydney began, cut off almost as soon as the single syllable left her lips.

"Just before 5:30," Vaughn answered automatically.

"Thanks."

She didn't question his quick, almost psychic response. It just seemed so normal that he was able to anticipate her every move, every word, every thought, just as she could with him. More than once, similar events had caused those around them to exchange amused glances, but there was no one there to judge them now. If little Ilya had any thoughts on what had just occurred between his new caretakers, he kept them to himself.

Vaughn drove out of the garage, unable to remember the last time he had driven so slowly and carefully. Not when there was so much to do, not for years. It would probably have to have been his driving test, seemingly forever ago. Suddenly he realized that he had no clue…

"Do you know where you're going?" Sydney asked through the silence.

"No idea," Vaughn answered, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. "Is it that obvious?"

He had hoped that maybe if he started to drive to their apartment, she would chime in and point him in the right direction. He had been right.

She was grinning at him and he loved every second of it. With Sydney, a grin, a smile, the beginnings of laughter… none of those were ever the simple upturning of the mouth that he noticed with everyone else. There was the unmistakable gleam in her eye, the dimples dancing in her cheeks, the way it immediately brought a smile to his own lips, no matter what had been going on before.

It was as if for that one moment, she had forgotten all the pain she had ever known and simply lived; as if someone or something, surely an angel, was shining light on her face, illuminating her true features, displaying the inner beauty and happiness that was not  always apparent, that he hoped to gain the key to so he would someday be able to unlock it forever.

"Well…"

Vaughn smiled to himself. He should have known better than to leave himself completely defenseless with a question like that.

"Don't answer that."

She didn't, pausing as she glanced out the window. "Take a left at the light."

He followed her directions without question, trusting her so completely with absolutely everything that it would be idiotic not to with this.

"Now, turn right, here," Sydney murmured, pointing and returning her hand to the top of Ilya's head, running her fingers through his hair.

Vaughn parked the car, not looking up to see where they were until he had taken the key out of the ignition. Displayed inside the bright windows were tiny mannequins dressed in infants' clothing, teddy bears nestled in strollers, pastels and a rainbow of bright colors intermingling perfectly.

"How did you…?"

He could have sworn he saw her blush, her ears turning a deep shade of pink for just a moment before returning to their normal color. But perhaps it had only been his eyes playing tricks on him. Either way, Sydney didn't answer, instead unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching to hand Ilya up to him.

"What are you doing?" Vaughn asked worriedly, a hint of fear edging his voice as he instinctively leaned away from the little boy.

Sydney laughed, the tinkling musical quality of it warming his ears, almost enough in itself to make him reach for the child and gently take him into his arms. Almost.

"Would you rather go in and pick up what we need?"

"No."

Hell no. Not only did he not have a single clue as to what they needed, but he had the sinking feeling that as an unmarried, childless man, being seen alone in a baby store was on par with opening the front door while wearing a pink, frilly apron, holding a freshly baked plate of cookies in his potholder-protected hand, and finding his football buddies standing on the other side, not even pretending to hide their laughter.

"Then just watch him for a few minutes. I only need to get the car seat and a portable crib. And diapers… And he needs some better clothes…"

"Syd…"

It was the puppy dog face; the one she could never refuse. Usually it was put to use so that he could gain possession of the TV remote, or to make her come to bed, or put down her book and… Now it was mixed with a tinge of something bordering on terror.

_Please-don't-leave-me-alone-with-the-kid-for-more-than-two-seconds…_

Sighing, Sydney reached over to open her door, but Vaughn was somehow out of the car and opening it for her before she even reached the handle. Standing up, she balanced Ilya on her left hip, leaving her right hand open for Vaughn to take, threading her fingers through his the moment they brushed against her hand.

"Thank you," he murmured, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it sweetly, before leading her to the store. "I'll be good, I promise."

"And you'll push the cart," Sydney stated, all her self control aimed at keeping the smile that was tugging at the corners of her lips from making itself known.

But Vaughn knew it was there, he could see the hint of it lurking in her eyes. "And I'll push the car," he repeated obediently, unlacing his fingers from hers to grab a free one just before the entrance.

The couple walked through the automatic doors to find that they had entered a sort of Baby Paradise. Everything was so different, so tiny. For a second, Vaughn thought that they had crossed from California into Oz, and wondered if he should wait where he was for the jubilant song-and-dance welcome to Munchkin Land. 

"Wow…" Sydney mumbled, glancing around them. "Where do we even begin?"

"Aisle one?" Vaughn suggested practically, shrugging and beginning to push the cart in that direction. But a sudden thought brought him to an abrupt stop.

"Vaughn!" Sydney jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding a crashing introduction to their cart. Ilya's head shot off her shoulder and he glanced around wide-eyed, not uttering a sound.

Vaughn offered her a look of apology, bringing a hand to her shoulder to make sure she was okay. "I thought you've been here before."

"I never said that," she stated, completely poker-faced and even acting a little confused.

She could lie to anyone, but not to him. "Syd…"

She cast her eyes downward, checking to see that Ilya was all right. But Vaughn knew better; the action was to take the spotlight off her and her flushing cheeks, a diversion tactic.

"Well… I've never actually been _inside_. I just knew where it was…"

He knew he had her now, cocking an eyebrow and giving her a teasing look. "Right…"

She smacked him playfully. "I'm serious!"

"I believe you!" he answered, raising his hands in mock surrender and jumping away from the cart so he wouldn't be directly in her line of fire.

Her laughter pealed off into a yawn. Vaughn returned to her side, lifting her chin and giving her a quick peck on the lips. "Let's just hurry and get this done so you can get to bed."

"Good idea," Sydney answered, yawning again.

"Do you want to put him in the cart?" Vaughn asked after a few moments of silence, gesturing towards Ilya as they made their way down the aisles, grabbing things they thought they needed. "They have this baby seat thing right here."

Sydney looked down at the little boy in her arms. His head had once again found its way to her shoulder, his thumb in his mouth as his other fingers splayed across his face, moving languidly back and forth.

She was mesmerized by the normality of the scene, the strangeness of it. It was somehow so right and so wrong. The two extremes twirling into something sweet and strange and exhilarating and peaceful. Almost too perfect, too normal to be really true, but so… amazing; she was in awe.

"No, he's fine. He looks so…"

"What an adorable little boy!" a voice interrupted her. A woman had been perusing the aisle they had just walked in to, and quickly found her way to their side. "How old is he?"

"Twenty months," Sydney answered, repeating the estimate Dr. Sumter had given her and adding, "On the twenty-fifth," to make it more believable. Something told her that a parent, a mother, would answer like that, would be able to give the date down to the exact second.

"They grow up so fast…" the woman mused, running her hand through Ilya's hair. "My youngest grandchild is going to be three in February… This one is just the sweetest little thing…"

Ilya hadn't perked up or shied away from the woman, content to sit quietly as long as he was in Sydney's arms. Sydney had been surprised when the woman had first approached them, but even she had to admit that the stoic little boy was a charmer.

"…And he looks just like your husband."

Vaughn had only been half paying attention to the conversation, scanning the shelves and letting the woman carry on without him. But at those words, his head whipped in their direction so quickly that for a moment Sydney was afraid the sheer force of it had broken his neck. She swore that in all the time she had known him, she had never seen his eyes as wide as they had been at that moment.

"He doesn't get told that very often," Sydney explained quickly, noting the woman glancing at him with amusement. "Usually people think he looks more like me."

"Well, he does have your eyes," the woman stated with a nod, for some reason finding the need to add, "It's no wonder the two of you made such a gorgeous child."

"Thanks." Sydney murmured, if a bit delayed. The absurdity of the situation, the comments that were so foreign to her ears but nevertheless savored, the enchanting normality of it all. Maybe someday she and Vaughn could walk through a store like this one with their own child and… 

Rewind and freeze. She shouldn't be thinking of that. That was the future, and who knew what that held. She was getting way ahead of herself, and had already roped poor Vaughn into so much…

"Good luck with your shopping," the woman said, breaking through her thoughts and beginning to walk away. "And enjoy that little cherub. He'll be gone before you know it." She disappeared into one of the countless other aisles, never knowing the mistake she had made or realizing the shock and confusion she had left behind her.

Sydney and Vaughn stood in silence, neither daring to speak or knowing what to say. Guilt, black and sticky, wrapped itself around Sydney, finding its way into her head and clogging her mind, stealing everything she had loved about the scene and beginning to make her sorry that it had ever happened. Vaughn looked like he would rather be somewhere, anywhere else. She shouldn't have brought him into this, she should have asked first…

Flailing its way past the thick fog in her mind and the lump in her throat, Sydney's voice passed her lips, almost too soft to be a whisper. "Are you okay?"

Vaughn's eyes darted in her direction, startled, shaking him from his thoughts. Sydney realized that for the first time in… as long as she could or wanted to remember, she didn't know what those thoughts were, couldn't read the look on his face, the emotion in his eyes.

"Yeah…"

"That lady…" Sydney blurted out, not knowing what else to say, where else to begin. She shifted Ilya to her other arm; he had suddenly become heavy again. "I'm sorry… Assuming you were my husband and…"

"I didn't mind _that_ part, it's just that…"

He continued his sentence, more than likely muttering something about how the woman could really think that Ilya belonged to him, when they had picked up the child in the middle of a Siberian blizzard, and he had no biological connection to the boy at all.

But Sydney didn't hear any of it. His words had sent a thrill up her spine, the likes of which she had never felt before, tingling from her fingertips and toes all the way to the inner depths of her soul. Her heart beat wildly, slamming against her chest with such vigor that she was sure it would burst. Emotions warred within her, her cheeks flushing with excitement, embarrassment, and something else that could only rightly be called love.

Vaughn trailed off as she stared at him, transfixed by the dreamy gleam within her eyes, the way her lips partially opened and she looked like she had tasted a piece of heaven on earth. If she hadn't been holding a little boy in her arms; if they weren't in the middle of a baby store… 

For a moment he almost forgot all the reasons he shouldn't be kissing her with an undying passion, shouldn't be holding her so tightly that it would surely have bruised both of them, throwing her up against the first flat surface that he encountered and… 

He tried to make his way over to her, only to hear something clatter, to feel a sharp pain in his hip, and… who the hell put that there?

The cart… The baby store… Ilya.

The sound of the things bouncing around in their cart drew Sydney out of her reverie. When Vaughn looked up after securing his balance, he found her still staring at him, but this time adding concern and amusement to the mix.

"What?" A sheepish grin found its way to his lips, his hand running nervously through his hair. It was times like these that she made him feel fifteen again. She was the only person who could ever do that to him.

"Really?" she asked, not making any mention of his recent run-in with the cart.

"Really, what?"

She almost didn't want to repeat what he had said, didn't want him to tell her something different, to deny what she had heard. But he was watching her, concerned and puzzled; she had to say it now.

"You didn't mind…"

"No," he interrupted softly, that single word casting a spell over her, one that she hoped would never break.

Now it was Sydney's turn to look away, the mixture of embarrassment, amazement, lust, and love so intoxicating, it was nearly lethal. "Me neither."

~~~

Nearly two hours later, they had all been more or less fed (grocery shopping was definitely on their list of things to do tomorrow), Sydney had changed Ilya, dressing him in his new pajamas, and tucked him gently into the portable crib that Vaughn had set up in the office. She placed a stuffed dinosaur next to the little boy, Vaughn's sole contribution during their earlier shopping experience, and watched as Ilya gave up trying to fight to keep his eyes open and succumbed to sleep.

Murmuring a goodnight to the sleeping child, Sydney switched off the light and walked out of the room. Vaughn had been watching her from the doorway, and took her hand once she left the room, leading her down the hall and to the room which was now referred to as "theirs."

Sydney stopped him before they walked through the door, pulling on his arm and making him turn to face her. "Do you think he'll be okay?"

Vaughn smiled softly, running a tender hand down her face to smooth the worry lines. "He's got you, Syd. I _know_ he'll be okay."

Silently, they slipped out of their clothes and into their pajamas, letting routine and the moonlight guide their tired limbs as they made their way to bed. After checking to make sure that the baby monitor was on, Sydney lay down on what had become her side of the bed, sighing with satisfaction as she felt the mattress sag slightly under Vaughn's added weight.

She stared at the ceiling, lasting only a few seconds before surrendering to temptation and inching over to Vaughn, laying her head next to his on his pillow. Her own lonely pillow lay smooth and flat, barely an indentation where her head should have rested at night; but the simple fact that every night she only lasted a few long moments before sliding onto his pillow and into his arms might have had something to do with that.

Vaughn automatically wrapped his arm around her, breathing in the scent of her hair, his fingers instinctively finding where her tank top had ridden up, and grazing feather-light touches across her skin.

"Mmm…" Sydney sighed, arching against him, half stretching, half pleading for more. "I love this," she whispered, her voice breathy as her stomach muscles quivered with his touch.  "Being in bed… with you."

She still couldn't get used to it. Lurking somewhere within her, hiding so well that she couldn't find it when she searched it out, was the fear that if she closed her eyes, all of this would disappear. She would wake up in her own bed, in her own apartment, and on her own, all remembrance of what she thought she had had dissolving every second the sun rose further in the sky.

He laughed softly into her hair. "Still not used to it? It's been… three months almost." Since she had moved in with him, that is. There was no point telling her that he had loved her, that they had been connected long before that.

"On the twenty-fifth," she added, nodding. She remembered the day exactly, what they had both worn, what was said, the spontaneity of it, the madness and bliss…

"Is that why you picked that date earlier?" His fingers stopped their lazy pattern and he pulled her closer to him.

"Yeah," she smiled. It was stupid; she knew it. But despite all she had seen there was still a part of her that was a hopeless romantic, and that had been the first and only date she had been able to grasp in the heat of the moment.

There was a pause again, broken by her soft gasp as his fingers began to move again, just as light and gentle, but somehow taking on a deeper meaning, carrying with them something more than they had before. 

"No it's not."

His voice was a breath of air washing over her shoulders, blending so splendidly with the whisper-light caresses of his fingers that she could barely process his words, let alone form a coherent response.

"Hmm?" 

She was lost in his touch, lust and tranquility juxtaposing and merging into something too wonderful for words and thoughts to describe. A delicious, jumbled up, exquisite ripple of sensations, like the quiet expanse between sleeping and waking, only instead of simply being able to remember her dreams, she lived them.

"It's not stupid. To have picked that day. And to still not believe all of this… _I_ still can't believe it."

Sydney turned in his arms, pressing her lips to his, turning all her remaining strength into passion, if only for a moment, letting him share the last of her waking breath and intertwining her legs with his own.

"I'll never stop loving this… Or you…" Her eyes were closing even as she said it, her breaths becoming soft and measured.

"Me neither, Syd," Vaughn assured her, capturing her lips one last time before she completely submitted to sleep, smiling as she sighed contentedly and tried to move closer to him, unsuccessful only because they couldn't be any closer than they already were. "Goodnight."

But she didn't hear him, fast asleep before the soft sound of his voice reached her ear. He joined her in their dreams soon after. Just like the room and the bed, those, too, had gone from belonging to either him or her and merged into something shared, something else that they could truly refer to as theirs.

With the exhaustion of the past few days and Vaughn's arm securely around her, Sydney slept more soundly than she had in weeks. Her dreams, no matter how good they had been, would not be remembered when she blinked her eyes open and found the room lit with the bright light of late morning, or…

"Syd!"

She woke with a start, leaning towards the voice, expecting to find Vaughn but nearly falling off the bed. Vaughn wasn't there, but that wasn't unusual. She had been so exhausted, there was no doubt that he would have woken up before her.

But sunlight wasn't streaming in through the cracks between the curtains. The room was blanketed with darkness. Not the dim, half-light of a rainy day, but the complete, enveloping, suffocating blackness of night.

Using all her effort, she forced her fuzzy brain to make sense of the green glow emanating from the bedside clock. 4:07. Confusion added itself to the fogginess of just waking, concocting a deadly brew intent on lulling her back to sleep.

_What was going on? Was it all a dream? Where was Vaughn?_

"_Syd_!"

The voice called out again, louder this time, its urgency echoing both through the door and directly in her ear. There was no doubt it was Vaughn and there was no doubt that she was awake, that this wasn't a dream. But what…

And suddenly it dawned on her. She woke up completely, her body snapping to full alert as she remembered, when she realized that she was hearing Vaughn's voice over the baby monitor and down the hallway from the room where…

"Oh God…"

She jumped out of bed and flew out of the room, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor of the hall as Vaughn called her name again.

Ilya…

~~~

Because no fluffy chapter is ever complete without a cliffhanger ending…

Hopefully that wasn't too sickeningly fluffy for you, and I apologize if it was. But hey, we all need some fluff every now and then, right?

Thanks for all your great reviews! Please keep 'em coming…


	5. Slipups and Changes

Wrestling Emotions 

Chapter 5: Slip-ups and Changes

Running so fast that she almost slid right past the door, adrenaline pumping as if she had been on a mission. She hadn't been able to wake up thirty seconds ago, but now she was wide-eyed and ready for any sort of danger that might present itself.

Light pooled out of the doorway, warm and welcoming, but a beacon, a warning, spreading and fading as it glimmered down the hall. The dazzling puddle of light just outside the door blocked partially by Vaughn's shadow, his mussed hair showing perfectly in the black outline before her.

The contrast between the dimness of the hall and the brilliance of the room was intense and vivid, striking her skull instantly, nearly to the point of pain. It took her a few moments to adjust to the virtually blinding brightness after the calm and quiet of the dark, early morning hours. But her other senses were working just fine.

"What…?"

She inched closer, hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her, that this would be some kind of nightmare. But although the illustrated scenes in her dreams were often so vivid as to drive her to tears and at times she could feel actual pain, she could never remember smell being a factor in any of them. And when she had already taken three tentative steps, she had to admit, that, for once, her eyes were _not_ playing tricks on her, that what she saw was real.

Vaughn remained by the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, sleep lurking within his eyes but frightened off for the moment by shock and disbelief. "It's _everywhere_."

Ilya was sitting in the far corner of the crib, only his wide eyes betraying the fear he felt at such scrutiny, his cheeks the deep shade of red that Vaughn had contemplated on the plane. The child's soiled diaper and pajama bottoms lay on the other side of the crib, a path of smeared filth separating them from the little boy.

Sydney was close to panic. So close that her toes were already over the precipice, wiggling in the air; the wind was tugging at her, imploring her to join in its game, soar with it over the edge and into oblivion. Deep breaths would have quelled the anxiety within her, calming the gusts that threatened to pull her over. But they also would have increased the sloshing and churning in her stomach, nauseating her far beyond her control.

She was caught on the brink, unable to jump over or step back, frozen so long as everything froze around her, if nothing pushed her forward, arms flailing as she fought unsuccessfully to regain her balance…

Vaughn unfortunately picked this moment to tiptoe up behind her, braver now that she was in the room, craning his neck to see without getting too close. "Is it _supposed_ to look like that?"

And that was all the push she needed.

Her head whipped around with a flurry of emotion, shooting like darts out of her flashing eyes. Anger, shock, guilt, sadness, fear… surging out before him in her accidental, sleep-deprived wrath, aiming in his direction only because he was the first thing to make noise, to move, to make her trip and fall over, plummeting towards whatever lay below.

"How the _hell_ would I know?! I've never even babysat, for God's sake! I don't know how to…"

"I'm sorry?" Vaughn tried, his voice almost too soft to interrupt the unintentional biting force of her words. He ran a gentle hand down her arm, knowing that the emotions vomited forth had not been aimed at him, but had merely fallen in his direction. Not afraid to get closer to her, to comfort her, knowing full well that she could very easily kill him if she wanted to, but also that she would never want to, never would.

He caught her before she reached the bottom, before she could completely explode in a fury of fiery sparks. He carried her back up to the top, sitting her well away from the edge of the cliff and began work on a fence so that she could not fall again.

Sydney sighed, noticing that the deep breath hadn't killed her and she was somehow becoming accustomed to the stench. His fingertips on her forearm had the intended effect, capturing the emotion that had sprung throughout the room and reining it in, giving it back to its owner for use at another, more appropriate time.

"No. _I'm_ sorry."

Vaughn planted a kiss on her shoulder, the bare skin that her tank top revealed memorized long ago, his lips missing the strap by instinct. "It's okay, baby. It won't be for too long. We can do it."

That was all she needed to multiply her strength, to be able to help him build that fence on the edge that she had fallen off only seconds before. And very much like the Grinch, she was able to put herself back together, suddenly capable of handling the emotional chaos of ten Sydneys, plus two.

Because Vaughn made her feel like everything was going to be okay when he was by her side, that the two of them could accomplish anything together. He had made her whole again countless times before, knowing the pieces to the jigsaw puzzle that was both Sydney and her life by heart and more capable of piecing her back together than anyone or anything else.

"Thank you…" she murmured, falling back into him for a moment, reveling in his strength and stability and borrowing from it, sharing it with him before moving forward to pick up Ilya. "Hey, little man. Are you okay?"

Vaughn wrinkled his nose in distaste as she wrapped the little boy in the not-so-soiled blanket and cradled him in her arms, wondering where she had found the ability to do something so simple, something he didn't think he would have the strength for.

Sydney rested her cheek against Ilya's forehead and frowned, picking her head up and brushing a gentle hand against the child's skin. "Does he feel warm to you?"

Slowly, Vaughn reached out an almost shaking hand and pressed it lightly against Ilya's forehead, holding it there for as little time as he thought he could get away with before quickly pulling away.

"Kinda."

Sydney cradled Ilya closer against her, rocking him back and forth. "I'm going to get him in the tub. Can you find that ear thermometer we bought today?"

"Sure."

Sydney made her way out of the room, leaving Vaughn to search through the still-unpacked bags littering the floor. Grabbing a towel, she filled the tub with a few inches of warm water and proceeded to wash Ilya, talking softly to him the entire time. She had him out of the tub and nearly dried off before Vaughn came in with the thermometer.

"It took me awhile to find it," he said simply, handing it to her.

Sydney smiled at him, sitting on the toilet and plunking Ilya on her lap as she held the thermometer in his ear. "101.9."

Vaughn tried desperately to impress her, to think of what his mother had done when he was sick as a child. But it was nearly 4:30 in the morning, and he was still slightly dazed with all that had happened, wondering what else there was to come. He came up blank.

"What do we do?"

Sydney didn't laugh at him for not knowing, and that was one of the many things he loved about her. She knew that he had tried, and to her, that was good enough. So he hadn't come up with the answer this time. Next time he would, or the time after that. The two of them complemented each other well, and usually the other was able to step in where the other failed. At least that was how it happened this time.

"Did you see any Tylenol in any of those bag?"

"No, but we have some up here," he answered, reaching for the medicine cabinet. But he stopped mid-action, the horrified way she said his name freezing his hand in the air.

"Vaughn! You can't give that to a two-year-old!"

"Okay!" Vaughn retracted his hand as if it had been bitten, and jumped back. He didn't ask why, simply trusting that she was right. Luckily, he was a quick learner. No adult Tylenol for babies... He wouldn't make _that_ mistake twice.

Sydney looked to little Ilya, who had snuggled into her arms, his wet hair sticking out in all directions. "If you'll stay with him for a few minutes, I'll run to…"

"I'll go," Vaughn interrupted.

She had tried to fix it _not_ so that he would have to watch Ilya, but so that he wouldn't have to leave the house. He could have been sleeping, after all. It was her fault that Ilya had woken up, and…

"Was he crying?" Sydney asked almost out of nowhere, suddenly concerned that the child had been crying and she hadn't heard him. What kind of moth… caretaker was she if…

"No."

"Then how did you…?"

"I was… I woke up and I was thirsty so I thought I would go check and make sure he was… you know, that his blankets hadn't fallen off or anything…"

Any other man would not have even thought to check on Ilya. A father would have, but most men wouldn't bother if the child wasn't theirs, if they had been forced to watch it because their girlfriend was babysitting for the CIA.

This just went to prove that Michael Vaughn was not like most other men. Deep down she had known it before, but at that moment, she _knew_ for certain and without any shadow of a doubt, that Vaughn was the man of her dreams, the only one she would ever be able to live for, ever…

"Syd? Are you…"

"V-Vaughn…"

She wouldn't have interrupted him if she had known he had been speaking; if she had heard any words after the breathy way he had said her name. Sydney had catapulted herself into dreamland again, just as she had earlier that day and just as she had more than likely done the day before, and the day before that…

She shook her head slightly, smiling softly at him. It was late… or early. She could write it off as that. Or she could…

"…Thanks."

He knew she meant for everything, without her having to say it. He knew that she wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do this, any of it; that she was grateful that he was. He even knew, by the way she tried to hide how she had stuttered over his name, that she had almost called him "Michael," but the strangeness of the word had lodged it into her throat.

Vaughn leaned over, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head. And Sydney correctly understood that gesture as his "You're welcome," his way of telling her that he'd do anything she asked him and even those things she didn't; that he thought of this as his responsibility too, because like the bed, the apartment, and even their dreams, this was something that was theirs, theirs together.

Without a word, he plodded down the hall to their room, throwing a pair of jeans on over his boxers, pulling on a t-shirt that he picked up off the floor, and finding his shoes somewhere under the bed. Sydney carried Ilya into the kitchen and got him a bottle of water, knowing that he needed liquids to help his fever go down. Vaughn gave her a quick kiss on his way out the door, letting that one kiss serve as both an I love you and a goodbye, saying more than either of those phrases could.

Sydney took Ilya to the office to change him into another pair of pajamas, preparing herself ahead of time for the smell and intent on changing the child as quickly as possible so she could clean up the mess.

But the scent of disinfectant greeted her, flaring out her nostrils with its pungent odor. The crib was clean, if a little damp, and she could hear the hum of the washing machine down the hall. These sights, smells, and sounds, as simple and everyday as they were, were almost enough to make her swoon.

"Look what Vaughn did for us," she murmured to Ilya, putting him down as she rustled through the bags, looking for another pair of pajamas. Sydney took the towel from the little boy and spread it out on the floor, laying him on it and putting on his diaper.

"Isn't he…" she continued, breaking off as a familiar warmth fell over her and glancing up at the figure that appeared in the doorway, wondering for just a second why she hadn't heard the door open. "Hi."

"Hi."

Vaughn didn't say another word, watching her as she continued changing Ilya into his pajamas, the soft rustle of cloth and the whirring of the washer the only sounds penetrating their eardrums. The silence calm and light, like a lullaby, soothing and sweet.

Sydney stood up, scooping the tired little boy into her arms and walking to the door. Vaughn ran his finger down the bridge of Ilya's nose, smiling when the child didn't shy away from him. Sydney loved this simple exchange, letting herself pretend for just a moment that the child in her arms belonged to her and Vaughn, their baby boy…

But it wasn't, it wasn't. And oh, she was doing it again. She seriously had to stop delving into her fantasies, ready to fulfill dreams that couldn't turn into reality just yet, that took time, more than she was able to give. It had only been three months since they had even…

The scent of bleach, for a moment so strong that it was starting to give her a headache, interrupted her thoughts, reminding her of all he had done for her. "Thanks," Sydney murmured, breaking the silence and gesturing to the room around them, "For this."

Vaughn shrugged, giving her a shy, lopsided grin and bringing a hand to the back of his neck. "I didn't want you to have to worry about it."

"I…It…" Sydney stammered, shifting Ilya to her hip so she could move closer to Vaughn. He was the only one who could render her speechless.

She leaned into him, closing her eyes and knowing that he would dip his head down to meet her waiting lips, loving that she was right and that even such a small, relatively chaste (at least for them) kiss, could ignite such a fire between them, conveying all the feelings that they weren't able to put into words.

"And," she began, nearly breathless, the word coming out as a sigh as she pulled away. "We need _Infants'_ Tylenol."

"Thanks," Vaughn answered, again giving her that shy smile she loved so much, this time letting that action serve in place of a verbal goodbye, and disappearing down the hall, his footsteps cut off by the shutting of the door. And this time he was gone for more than two minutes, owing mainly to the fact that when he got down to his car, he knew what he needed to get at the store.

Vaughn didn't return for half an hour, finding Sydney nearly asleep on the living room couch with Ilya in her arms, both half-covered with an afghan and watching old TV reruns on Nick at Nite, the black and white pictures flashing a warm glow over the scene.

Sydney didn't ask what had taken him so long. She didn't point out that he had only had to go a few blocks to the 24-hour mart and pick up one item. She didn't tell him that he could and should have been home twenty minutes ago.

She merely smiled and clicked off the television, a tiny lamp across the room  now radiating the only source of light. "Thank you."

But he offered her an explanation anyway, knowing she didn't need one, wasn't asking for it, but feeling that she deserved one, that he should justify himself any way he could.

"I didn't know what kind to get," he stated, sitting next to her on the couch and pulling two bottles out of a small paper bag.

Sydney was relieved to see that they were in fact both Infants' Tylenol, but one was red and the other purple. Such a small, sweet gesture. So truly and completely… Vaughn.

Vaughn held one bottle in either hand, moving them up and down as if he were balancing them on an imaginary scale. "I didn't know whether he'd want cherry or grape, so…" He shrugged, letting that finish his statement.

"Why don't you pick tonight," Sydney said, gently shaking Ilya awake. "I think he's too tired."

The little boy blinked his eyes open, letting them adjust to the small amount of light. He yawned and stretched in Sydney's arms before shivering and snuggling closer to her and further under the blanket.

Vaughn carefully considered both bottles of medicine before setting down the red one and reading the back of the purple. He sucked some medicine up into the dropper, checking the amount and squeezing a little back out; he looked again, satisfied this time that it wasn't over the line, and glancing into her waiting eyes.

"I used to hate the cherry flavor when I was a kid."

"Me too." A quiet smile was swallowed by the darkness, lighting her face for a moment with the thought of something else they shared.

Vaughn handed the dropper to her, moving to make sure he was well out of range of any spitting that might occur. He had heard horror stories of babies who were able to spit out gallons more medication than they had been given, soaking anything that happened to be in their way with the sticky goo.

But Ilya took the medicine without a fight, swallowing all that Sydney offered him out of the dropper. Maybe those stories hadn't been true after all…

"Maybe the grape _is_ better," Sydney reasoned.

Or maybe the child had been so traumatized that he wouldn't put up a fight no matter what the taste had been. They both thought it at nearly the exact same time, but neither voiced it. There was no need to put it into words when neither was willing to admit what they both already knew.

"You know," Vaughn murmured, deciding that a change of subject was in order, "when I was at the counter in the store, the guy took one look at me and said, 'Wife sent ya out, didn't she?'"

"What did you say?" Sydney asked, grinning both at Vaughn's impression of the gruff clerk and as she remembered their earlier experience in the baby store. She felt like they were playing house, that their mission was to fool everyone into thinking they were a family…

"Nothing. I didn't get a chance. He continued mumbling something about wives that included a few choice words and was a little obscene. I stopped him there and told him that _my_ wife…"

He had said it again. For the second time in the past twelve hours. The word and implication flowing easily off his tongue, without effort or even a hint of laughter…

"… was the most beautiful…"

But it had to be a joke. He had to be kidding. It was something they would keep to themselves, something private they would think of a few months or years from now and share in their laughter. _Do you remember the time when…_

"… amazing…"

He had told her that before. It seemed like so long ago, but she still remembered, just like she remembered every compliment he had given her, even unintentionally, every word he had spoken to her that wasn't about the CIA or a mission…

"… woman in the world."

And as his sentence ended, she realized that he would be waiting for an answer, that it would be her turn to speak. Sydney decided that it had to, it must be, it couldn't be anything other than a joke, than part of their assignment, their mission…

She laughed softly, fueling the sparkle in his eyes that flashed brightly for a moment before nearly being extinguished by her words, despite their almost playful tone.

"You'll have to let me meet her sometime."

"Syd, I…"

Suddenly she realized that what he had told the clerk had slipped as effortlessly and naturally off his lips as she had first thought, that by trying reason, to turn his words into something that would make sense to everyone, she had misread him, misinterpreted their meaning. And just as quickly, she wished that she had followed her instinct and simply thanked him, wished that she wasn't completely terrified of commitment, hadn't tried to turn it into a joke.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn. I thought you… I…"

"Shh…" He brought his hand up to caress her cheek, comforting her when it should have been the other way around. But she knew that he understood, could piece together her babbling into something that made even more sense to him than it did to herself.

Without a word, Vaughn stood, helping her get to her feet as well. It was time to go back to bed. He guided her down the hallway, stopping in front of the laundry closet and switching Ilya's blankets and pajamas from the washer to the dryer.

Letting go of her hand to concentrate on his task, he finally opened his mouth to speak. "What are we going to…?"

"He'll have to sleep with us," Sydney murmured, quite sure that Vaughn was not going to like her answer and bracing herself for his reaction.

"What?" Vaughn stopped mid-motion, a shirt, tiny and dripping, still in his hand. 

"We can't put him back in the crib," she answered. "It's still wet."

"I know, but…"

In the course of one night, so much had changed. They had been hurled into parenthood, forced to accept all the burdens that accompanied it, whether they wanted to or not. Vaughn had cleaned up a mess that had been made by a twenty-month-old human being and not a dog (although the thought that it belonged to Donovan _is_ what got him through it); he had gone to the store for Infants' Tylenol, and now…

"It's just a few hours."

He could see by her eyes, tell by the way her voice had become softer, that the guilt she was feeling over this arrangement was already pouring over her. In a few seconds, he could see that she would volunteer to sleep on the couch, to leave him alone in the bed. And he also knew that he wouldn't let that happen, that he wouldn't be able to sleep without her

So he quickly acquiesced, not wanting her to feel any worse than she already did, understanding that it was too early in the morning for any of them to be awake. "Okay."

Sydney's relieved gaze thanked him. Ilya had fallen asleep again, his head dropping against her shoulder. She carried the little boy into the room she shared with Vaughn, laying him near the center of the bed. Vaughn watched as she slid into bed next to the child, his pulse jumping as he noticed that she was on his side, her head on his pillow, one arm draped around the little boy, her back waiting for Vaughn himself to warm it. He gladly complied, pulling her close and kissing her shoulder before dropping back to sleep.

~~~

When Sydney awoke this time, daylight was streaming in through the windows, welcoming her with its warmth. A pair of blinking eyes greeted her, cool and unquestioning, staring into her own with almost too much power, and definitely not the ones she was used to waking up to every morning.

Vaughn was gone and Ilya sat next to her on the bed. He had been up for some time, by the looks of it, silent as always, but the appearance of sleep long gone from his face. His cheeks were a rosy pink, nowhere near the frightening shade of red they had been just hours before.

"Do you feel better?" Sydney asked in both English and Russian, pulling the boy into her arms and bringing a hand to his forehead, sighing with relief when it felt much cooler.

"What's your name?" she asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to get him to speak, repeating it in Russian as she had before and turning the child to face her. "What's your name, sweetie?"

He didn't answer, instead offering his silent brown eyes up to her, unspoken volumes pooled within them, but locked there as if in a cage, captured forever and unable to come out and make themselves known. After a few moments, Ilya looked away, surveying the bed, the room, the windows; his gaze coming to rest on the man who had appeared in the doorway.

"Morning." Vaughn's killer smile was enough to make her melt, the plate of muffins and steaming cup of coffee in his hands just an added bonus. "I made breakfast…" he began, but then thought better of it. The coffee, maybe, but he couldn't pull off these muffins as his own creation. "Well, really I went out and got breakfast. We don't have anything."

"Thanks," Sydney murmured, leaning over to kiss him as he approached the side of the bed, knowing that neither of them cared that she had yet to brush her teeth.

"And I asked the lady at the counter what _he_ should eat," Vaughn stated as he pulled away, gesturing toward Ilya with the coffee mug before handing it to Sydney. "And she said that these were fine as long as we didn't give him too much."

Setting the plate on the nightstand, Vaughn broke off a small piece of a muffin and offered it to Ilya. The child took it, seeming unsure of what to make of this new object in his hand. Sydney took the other muffin from the plate and began to eat it. Ilya watched as she chewed and swallowed, finally taking a bite of his own breakfast and repeating her actions.

Vaughn chuckled, shaking his head in amusement and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Is he any better?"

"I guess so. I mean, he feels cooler, but he still won't talk."

"He's eating okay," Vaughn commented, noting that Ilya had finished the piece of muffin he had been given, and breaking off another piece and handing it to him. 

Taking advantage of his proximity, Sydney kissed Vaughn quickly on the lips, placing the uneaten half of her muffin back on the plate and standing up. "Thanks for breakfast. Can you watch him while I take a shower?"

"For how long?" Vaughn asked warily, eyeing Ilya.

"Five, ten minutes tops. I'll be quick."

She was in the bathroom before he could answer, the door not completely shutting behind her. He heard the water turn on, could see her beginning to take off her clothes through the crack of the partially opened door, the light falling perfectly on her...

Swallowing, he turned his attention back to Ilya. The boy was regarding him quietly, seeming to size up his competition. Vaughn offered him another piece of muffin, but Ilya didn't take it, his eyes not breaking from Vaughn's for even a moment.

Unsure of what to do now, Vaughn glanced around the room, deciding that he could at least make the bed before Sydney came back and reaching over to pick up Ilya.

"Okay, buddy, well… ohh…" Vaughn crinkled his nose, daring to bring his face closer to the child, glad that at least this time, the smell was contained. "Don't move."

He stood up, keeping one eye on Ilya as he inched towards the bathroom. "Syd?" he called, opening the door a little further. He could see her figure through the flimsy shower curtain and forced his eyes to lock themselves on the ground. He had always thought this bathroom was ugly (Weiss always teased him that it was why he had gotten the apartment so cheap), and the disgusting mixture of patterns and unappealing colors on the tiled floor was enough to quench anyone's desire.

Except when Vaughn began to remember the time that he and Sydney had…

Sydney's face appeared at the far end of the bathtub, the rest of her body smartly kept covered by the curtain, out of range of his roving eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Syd, he's starting the smell."

His tone, filled with anxiety and panic, made her laugh, the curtain falling away momentarily, giving him a quick glimpse of her body, adding intense sexual frustration on top of everything else that was going on, almost bringing it to the forefront. He didn't need to tell her that if he saw any more than that, he would lose it. She quickly snatched the curtain back up, looking at him sympathetically.

"You can change him if you want…"

Ha! He could also run down the street completely naked, but he surely would not be in line for that activity any time soon. Of all the things he could think to do right now, changing a baby's diaper had to be somewhere near the bottom of the list. Hell, it was _off_ the bottom of the list. The running naked thing was starting to sound pretty good; it was pretty warm out, after all. And the only kids he _ever_ planned on changing were his own, when he and Syd…

"… But just hang on. I'll be out in a few minutes."

She disappeared again, the sound of the water changing as it hit against her body; the pictures running through his head almost too beautiful to ignore.

Vaughn grit his teeth, confidence and pride diluting the fear and doubt as he went into the other room, picked up Ilya, and holding him at arm's length, headed towards the office.

Sydney came out of the shower a few minutes later, surprised that Vaughn and Ilya were no longer in the room, and quickly changing into jeans and a t-shirt. Vaughn's voice led her into the office, a clean, bare-bottomed Ilya latching onto her leg the moment she stepped in the door. Vaughn stood across the room, turning a new diaper over and over in his hands as if trying to find which end was up.

Ilya held his arms out to her and Sydney gladly scooped him up, planting a kiss on his chubby little cheek without a thought. Half a box of used baby wipes littered the floor, the more soiled ones piled on a dirty diaper that lay open in the center of the room. A few fresh diapers had spilled out of the bag, trailing across the floor. And Vaughn was standing in the middle of it all, quickly hiding the diaper behind his back, his cheeks flushing.

Without a word, Sydney closed the space between them, claiming his lips for a hurried but passionate kiss, running the fingers of her free hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. She snatched the diaper from behind his back, showing him which way was up and laying it open on the ground.

She surprised him by placing Ilya in his arms, thought for a second that he would drop the child, but he didn't. "Go ahead," she said, nudging him.

Vaughn lay Ilya on the floor, bringing the front of the diaper around and fastening the sides with quivering fingers, trying not to let Sydney see how badly his hands were actually shaking.

"Not so tight," Sydney whispered in his ear, kneeling beside him.

He followed her directions without a word, loosening the right side before patting the adhesive down gently. He didn't know why he was so nervous now. The hard part had been finished before she had come in the room. But somehow, with her watching him…

Sydney handed him a shirt and a little pair of pants. Vaughn held the jeans up in front of them both, sharing her smile at their tiny size. Slowly and carefully, he put them on, sitting Ilya up and gently removing his shirt and replacing it with another one. Standing and searching through the bags, Vaughn found a pair of socks and some shoes and put them on the little boy, smiling in satisfaction when he finished.

"You did it."

Her voice in his ear nearly sent him hurtling over the edge, taking her with him and threatening to even further scar the child before them. But Vaughn held back, putting an arm around her neck rather than plastering his lips to hers, basking in the success he had achieved at what had appeared such an impossible task.

She returned his embrace, standing and gathering the garbage that had accumulated around the room. "I'll take Ilya to the grocery store so that you can have some peace here."

He didn't even think before he said it. It had just seemed natural, ordinary, right. The words flying out of his mouth before he could stop them, realizing as he heard them, that he wouldn't have wanted to, glad they had been said.

"I'll come with you."

The surprise on her face made it worth it. She knew that he didn't mind doing certain chores like laundry or cleaning the house, would even wash the dishes, drying and putting them away without her asking. But he hated grocery shopping.

Her head snapped in his direction, eyebrows raising. "Aren't the Kings playing in a few minutes?"

He nodded, they both knew he had been looking forward to this game for days. "Against the Islanders."

"Then don't you want to…"

"I'll come with you," he repeated again, the words flowing just as easily as they had the first time, even more so because this time he had meant to say them.

Sydney returned his smile, glad that nobody but Ilya was in the room, because they surely must've looked like a pair of love-struck teenagers grinning stupidly at each other. She had to pool all her strength in resisting the urge to kiss him, knowing that once she touched him, she wouldn't be able to stop.

"Okay."

They continued cleaning the room and were soon on their way out the door. Sydney smiled to herself as they crossed through the living room, noticing the blinking red light on the VCR and knowing that not only would he be able to watch the game later, but he would also be able to fast forward through the commercials.

"Syd?" Vaughn asked gently, having to shake her once again from her reverie. He was slowly becoming accustomed to having to do that, not questioning the sudden increase in frequency or what she had been thinking about.

His fingertips tenderly brushed against her jaw line, no longer listening to their master and unable to resist the impulse to touch her skin. She opened her mouth to speak, to pour out her heart to him and tell him everything he had wanted and would ever want to hear.

And the phone rang, incinerating the moment and causing a startled Ilya to jump and snuggle further into her arms.


	6. Delirium

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Wow, AnnaSun, that had to be the fastest I have ever gotten a review after posting. ;) Thanks! … Thanks, Raina/minirussel, I'm glad you like it… Haha! CryHope, my thoughts exactly… And, valley-girl2, that review must have taken forever! Thank you so much!

Thanks for reading, everyone! And if you have a second, please let me know what you think…

~~~

Chapter 6: Delirium

"I'll get it," Vaughn murmured, his fingertips lingering on her cheekbone as the phone rang once more, screaming for someone to answer it.

He sighed, wishing he could make the phone stop, wishing she hadn't closed her mouth so tightly at its sudden ringing that the words she had been about to say were unable to escape. Wishing, too, that she had said them anyway, that the phone hadn't scared them away.

He already knew what the words would be, almost exactly what she would say. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him, every time she touched him or his fingers brushed against her. He could hear it in the way she said his name, whispering it softly in the night when she thought he was asleep, calling to him across the Ops Center after she had returned from a mission, gasping it, screaming it into the air when they made love.

But skulking in the back of his mind, lingering near Doubt and Cynicism, stealing from Self-Confidence, and sharing with Fear, was a mutated monster of a thought, whispering to him that he was wrong, that she didn't feel the same way he did.

He had bashed it, bruised it, cut it, and clawed at it thousands of times, but had never succeeded in destroying it completely. Somehow it always returned, always came back, despite the damage he had done to it.

Sydney's voice was what he needed to kill it. She had no idea what a powerful weapon her voice, those words would have been, how they would have freed him from the monster once and for all. She surely would have spoken if she had, damn the phone and any other interruptions. 

Shrill and demanding, the phone rang for a third time, and he realized that without knowing it, he had already made his way across the room, that his fingers were practically touching the receiver, only had to move a quarter of an inch to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey man."

"Eric." The word was both a greeting and a statement, as he made eye contact with Sydney, letting her know who was on the phone. Her eyes smiled into his, and the "Hi" that followed his friend's name was almost strangled on its way out his throat.

"I sit with the tech guys for hours to bring you this information and _that's_ the greeting I get?"

"Sorry. We were just on our way out the door."

Which was the truth, more or less, and a lot easier to say to a friend than, _You__ just interrupted what might have been a crucial moment in my love life. But go ahead; it can wait…_

"Oh, alright. I'll get right to the point then…" Weiss took a deep breath to continue, and for a moment, Vaughn thought that they were actually going to be able to complete a business conversation without a string of his friend's amusing, if sometimes offensive innuendos and sidetracked thoughts. A shocking notion, but apparently a wrong one. "Hey, how was your first night playing daddy?"

Vaughn sighed, glancing up to where Sydney stood near the door, intent on signaling to her that this could take awhile. "It was…"

But his eyes came into contact with her form much sooner than he had anticipated. She had crossed the room, backing into his arms and laying her head on his shoulder, seemingly unable to stand without his touch. Vaughn put his arm around her, his fingers running circles over her shoulder. Ilya had settled once again, thumb held securely in his mouth. 

"…fine. Everything was fine."

Fine was an awful word. One of those that you offer to someone you don't really know when they ask you how your day went, and you don't feel like launching into a long explanation. A word that arouses suspicion in those close to you, that somehow always sounds unnatural as it makes its way out of your mouth. And Weiss was sure to call him on it.

"Fine? Ha!"

Another deep breath was heard through the phone, and Vaughn knew what was coming next: some inappropriate comment that Sydney was sure to hear with to her sharp ears and proximity to the receiver. She was more than used to Weiss' antics and comments, but Vaughn still attempted to prevent them whenever he could.

"Eric…"

Luckily for Vaughn, this appeared to be one of Weiss' good days. A hint of warning in the tone was all he needed.

"She's standing right there, isn't she?"

"And she can hear every word you're saying," Sydney stated, turning her head up toward the phone, unable to resist making her way into the conversation. She glanced up at Vaughn apologetically, but he held the phone away from his face and gently kissed the corner of her mouth to tell her that there was no need to apologize.

Weiss seemed taken aback at her comment, surely thinking that it was some kind of woman know-all, that Sydney was a psychic, or could project her voice over long distances. The silence stretched over a few seconds, and Vaughn thought for a moment that Weiss would actually behave. But…

"So now would not be a good time to mention that I think your girlfriend's got…"

Sydney's clipped "Watch it, Weiss" intermingled with Vaughn's drawn out "Eric…" so perfectly that it was impossible to hear or imagine one without the other. Vaughn didn't know whether Weiss had actually been able to make out either of these statements separately, but it didn't matter. He had been sufficiently shut up.

"Is there a reason for all this?" Vaughn asked finally, willing this conversation to come to an end, wishing that he and Sydney were back at the door before the phone rang, that…

"Of course," Weiss answered almost too quickly, angry at the implied accusation. "_Devlin_ told me to call you and let you know that we've looked over those documents."

"And?"

"And to remind you that you were supposed to email him."

Damn. He knew he had forgotten something. But there had been so much else to take care of and there was still so much more to… 

Sydney nuzzled closer to his neck, sighing, her breath rushing against his throat. He knew that the move had most likely been unconscious on her part, that Ilya was probably heavy and she was trying to adjust the weight, but he couldn't help the reaction it stirred within him.

He swallowed. Hard. 

Email… They would get to that eventually. First there was this phone call, then grocery shopping, and then he would be damned if he couldn't find a way to make Ilya go down for a nap for just an hour… hell, he'd take fifteen minutes if that's all they could get, but first things first…

"What did you find in the documents?"

"They're authentic and even better than we expected. Gave us a real heads up on the capabilities of that compound and the technology that dangerous rogue groups in that area have access to as a result of it. So I guess it worked out better this way, huh?"

Vaughn tightened his grip on Sydney even before she tensed within his arms. He tried to calm her, increasing the pressure of his fingers and whispering tender, reassuring words into her ear: French, he realized a moment later, just as he remembered that he should have taken the phone away from his mouth.

They may have gotten more information this way, but at what cost? Did Weiss even have any idea how many people had to die for them to get that little bit of intelligence?

But Vaughn couldn't blame him. It would be difficult to imagine the torture and pain unless he had experienced it firsthand, had seen the horror that lurked in Sydney's eyes afterwards, the fear that still hid within Ilya's…

"Mike? Hey… _What_ are you doing? Please tell me that "we're on our way out the door" was _not_ code for…"

He had known it had to have happened sooner or later. They had made it pretty damn far in the conversation, all things considered, but still…

"Is there anything else, Eric?"

"I'm serious, man. I already have the visual from the time I opened that closet in the Ops Center. I _really_ don't need to add sound…"

Sydney flushed with the memory. He could feel the blood rush to her cheeks and ears, knew that as embarrassing as it had been, she was also smiling, because, well, let's just say that Weiss' slight interruption hadn't deterred them from completing their activities…

"Eric, please. We were on our way to the grocery store."

"Okay. Sure. Whatever you wanna call it. I just want you to know, that I have been afraid to open a closet ever since then. It takes me an extra half an hour to get dressed in the morning…" Weiss could sense his friend's patience slowly dwindling and quickly got to the point. "They sent a team to Russia almost as soon as you got back, but didn't find much. The bodies were gone and they only found a few bullets; the rest were too far buried in the snow. Apparently it's a hell of a place up there."

He didn't need to tell either of them that.

"Thanks for the info, Eric."

"Just doing my job. Take care of yourself on your days off," he responded, a hint of bitterness edging his voice. "Oh, and watch it. Some nasty virus has been going around here the past couple of days. I swear, half the office is out. I think I might be coming down with it. Do I sound sick enough to get out of work tomorrow, ya think?"

Sydney shifted Ilya to her other arm, adjusting her weight against Vaughn in the process, the parts of his body that had become almost used to the pressure of her body suddenly relieved and new ones tingling.

He sighed. It was time to bring this conversation to a close. "Eric, we really have to go."

"Please, by all means. Just try not to scar little Ivan too much…"

"Ilya," Sydney stated into the phone, the little boy glancing up as she said his name, his eyes catching Vaughn's and not breaking away.

"Ilya, Ivan. Whatever… Oh crap, that tech guy's back. Damn guy must be immune to the flu… I gotta go."

The phone clicked, the dial tone reverberating in his ear before Vaughn had a chance to say goodbye. He hung up without a word, forcing his eyes away from Ilya's and kissing Sydney on the temple. The little boy might be the one in her arms now, but it would be _his_ turn later; he would make sure of it.

His new objective was to get through grocery shopping in as little time as possible. And he vowed not to touch Sydney until they were back in the apartment and Ilya was fast asleep. Because God, if he did… if he even laid one finger on her…

Too late. He had forgotten that she was still pressed against his body, still in his arms. Forgotten, that is, until she turned, brushing herself against him in the process, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek, nearly repeating the intensity of the moment they had had before the phone rang.

But this time… This time Eric's teasing had brought lust to the forefront, images from what he had once jokingly referred to as "the christening of the Ops Center" flashing vividly through Vaughn's mind.

"Vaughn…"

And he broke his vow, pressing a lingering kiss against her forehead, kept from going any further by the little boy's eyes that seemed to be drilling through his skull. Vaughn glanced up, almost angrily meeting Ilya's gaze. But behind those penetrating, serious eyes was a little boy who was far too adorable to stay mad at for more than three seconds; even Vaughn had to admit that.

"… Ready?"

He sighed, his lopsided smile beaming forth at the laughter he could see playing in her eyes. He knew that she felt exactly as he did, but was somehow doing much better at concealing it, instead enjoying his own frustration. Just wait until…

"Vaughn?" She didn't hide the laughter this time, trying and failing to edge her voice with impatience.

"Yeah," he answered, completely forgetting not to touch her (it had been an impossible goal) and threading his fingers through hers. "Let's go."

And so they left for the grocery store, neither of them realizing how much their lives had already changed, how much further they would…

~~~

"Syd…"

His weak and raspy voice called to her from their dark bedroom; she had been in the office, trying for what seemed like the millionth time to get Ilya to speak, to make any noise whatsoever. Her ears so finely attuned to his voice that she stopped mid-sentence at the sound of her name, as soft as it had been.

She was torn with relief and fear at the hum of Vaughn's voice, hoping more than anything that he was better, that he actually was awake this time, shivering as she remembered when  he had spoken the night before...

Plunking Ilya into his crib and handing him his stuffed dinosaur, she headed down the hall to check on her new patient. Thankfully, little Ilya felt much better. He still startled easily and refused to speak, but his temperature had quickly returned to normal. The Infants' Tylenol had been stowed away in the medicine cabinet, the grape flavor more than half full and the cherry still sealed.

But the Extra-Strength Tylenol had been taken down, sitting on the nightstand in their bedroom. Vaughn lay in bed beside it, his pounding head not nearly as bad as it had been the night before. Now, he only felt tired, as if he hadn't slept forever, and silently cursed Eric for even mentioning the flu the other day.

It had been two days since they had gone to the grocery store, two days since everything had seemed so perfect. Of course, Ilya had refused to either take a nap that afternoon or go to sleep at a reasonable hour that night. Once they had finally gotten him to settle down in the early hours of the morning, Sydney had looked so exhausted that Vaughn felt bad trying even one of the thousands of seduction tactics that had been coursing through his mind throughout the day.

So they had slept, but not as peacefully as either would have hoped. Vaughn had woken up with a slight fever the next morning. He had insisted that he was fine, but slowly worsened throughout the day and finally had to give in to the fact that he was ill.

That night, his temperature had spiked near 104, making Sydney nearly out of her mind with worry. He had awakened them both, thrashing and sweating profusely, mumbling in his delirium. She had tried to quiet him, struggling desperately to bring his fever down at the same time.

His slurred words had just begun to make sense and she had been trying her best to answer them, when he had suddenly fallen back asleep. It would have been the most anxious he had ever seen her… if he could remember much of what had happened the night before…

Vaughn had barely realized that he had called her name upon waking, almost surprised when Sydney appeared in the doorway, gliding quickly and silently to his side and sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing a gentle hand across his forehead.

"What's the matter, honey?"

No matter how tired he was, despite how his body ached, he still smiled, the grin somehow widening further as she pressed her lips against his forehead, checking his temperature but ending the gesture with a kiss. She had never called him anything but Vaughn before, and to hear such sweet, gentle words from her was almost worth getting sick.

He felt her cool sigh against his skin, knew that relief had triggered it. Instantly, the guilt crawled upon him, creeping through the aching tiredness. Sydney sensed the change in him immediately, sensed the elation that he had felt at her presence hastily slip away. 

"Vaughn? You okay?"

Even in the dimness, he could see how her eyes were glazed over with worry. He didn't know for sure, but he could sense that she had been up most of the night, afraid to close her eyes in case his didn't open. But he had no idea that anxiety was not all that had kept her awake, that something he had said in his delirium had forced her eyes open even when she wanted them so desperately to close.

Sydney kept a soft smile pasted on her face, truly glad that he was better and not wanting him to be anxious about her, trying desperately to show him that she was all right. But more than that, not wanting to have to tell him that…

"You probably shouldn't stay in here too long," Vaughn mused, interrupting her thoughts, sitting up and gently pushing her hands away as she tried to keep him down. "You don't want to get sick, too."

"I'm fine," she murmured. She had been exposed enough already. It would take more than the flu to keep her away from his side of the bed. The only difference had been that she had had him in her arms instead of the other way around.

She kissed him to emphasize her words, placing her lips gently against his own. And as much as he knew that she shouldn't be doing that, he couldn't help but respond, powerless to resist to the spell she had cast over him long ago

Vaughn didn't quite believe her, but didn't want to press the issue any further; he hadn't really wanted her to leave, after all. Sydney didn't tell him that she already felt a little under the weather, that she was probably already coming down with whatever he had, that she hadn't been able to keep anything down since breakfast yesterday.

"I don't get sick," Sydney added, hoping that the power of her own mind would be enough to persuade her as well as him, not wanting to be as sick as Vaughn had been or to have to push the responsibility of caring for Ilya onto him…

Sydney didn't know exactly what triggered it. She had remained steadfast in all types of situations before, and surely should have been able to in this one. But all the emotion that had been wound so tightly within her burst forth, and suddenly she couldn't take it anymore, hated this game of pretending that nothing had happened, that everything would be okay.

"God…" That one word wavered on the verge of tears. She brought a hand to the back of his head, burying her face in his neck as she mumbled, "You scared the hell out of me last night."

Last night…

Last night was a series of blurred pictures and blackness, almost like a dream, but even too screwed up to be considered that. He couldn't remember waking up completely, had felt her nudging him, heard her speaking, but couldn't make out the words, couldn't shake himself from sleep.

He knew that he had spoken, the words had poured from his lips, slurred together drunkenly. He had been completely powerless to stop them, completely at the mercy of his subconscious. And he had no idea what he had said to her, what she had been able to make out of his indiscernible babble…

"What happened?" It took him a moment to come up with even those words, but it was all he could think of to ask.

"You were burning up. Delirious… I never thought I'd get the fever to go down…" She brought her face up to look at him, millimeters from his own, her eyes so deep that he felt he could dive into them and never reach bottom. "I'm so glad you're okay."

Vaughn considered telling her that he was sorry, even opened his mouth to say the words. But she anticipated them, stopping him with a few gentle fingers pressed against his lips. "Don't," she murmured, tears shining in her eyes. "It's not your fault."

And he didn't, would never do anything that she had asked him not to, not something like that. So when she took her fingers away, his mouth formed a question instead, one that he was almost scared to ask, thought he knew the answer to and was hoping desperately would be wrong.

"What did I say?"

"Nothing," she answered, a little too quickly, fear and sadness flashing through her eyes for a fraction of a second before she smiled, standing up and walking to the door. "I'll go get you some ginger ale."

His stomach flip-flopped, not from sickness but from the thought of it; his heart sank when the realization hit him. It was all he could have, would have said to her in his fever, all that had been on his mind for days…

"Syd."

She stopped as he said her name, letting the word linger in the air between them, thick and heavy. Her hand was on the doorframe, frozen there, not letting her turn to face him.

"Syd, did I…" He trailed off, unable to put the rest to words.

But it didn't matter. Sydney knew.

"Yeah," she answered, almost too softly to be heard.

But he did hear it, regret hitting him instantly, smacking him square in the face and nearly knocking him over. She hadn't wanted to tell him, hadn't wanted to bother him while he was still sick, maybe never would have told him at all. But there it was, hovering between them, thick as fog in the valley, frigid as a sudden blast of wind on an already chilly day.

She was motionless, waiting for him to speak, waiting for his reaction. Wasn't even breathing for fear that she would miss his words. The two of them could communicate without words perfectly, but there were times, times like this, when they were needed more than anything, more than food, sunlight, and air combined.

"Syd, I didn't mean…"

Fear shot through her, an arrow from her mind straight to her heart, nearly piercing and shattering it, causing it to skip a beat. She stopped him there, not wanting to hear the rest, the fear filling it in for her, putting words there that she couldn't bear to hear spoken aloud.

"Vaughn. It's okay."

She turned and even smiled at him, willing to forgive and forget. To live as if for the night she hadn't, letting it fade away until she couldn't be sure whether it was a dream or reality, would never remember that it had actually happened.

But he couldn't let it go like that, couldn't let the uncertainty hang in the air, lingering until it felt like fading away, finally forgotten. It would be over him forever, even when it was the right time, when he was fully conscious and aware, when he bent down and finally asked her if…

"No, Syd." His eyes piercing through her, nestling next to her heart. He let himself smile softly, almost shyly, couldn't help it, she was so damn beautiful. "I didn't mean to ask you like that."__

Suddenly, she became very conscious of the doorframe that her hand still lingered on, the only thing keeping her from falling to her feet. A rush of air left her, the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding finally releasing itself. Her eyes and smile told him that she loved him, but the words were stuck in her throat.

He heard them anyway, heard her heart singing to him, felt her arms wrap around him and her lips on his own even though they weren't really there. That one soft smile, those two emotion-filled eyes were enough to convey all this to him, and he knew from the way she sighed and shivered that his own eyes were reflecting hers.

Vaughn left his question from last night unanswered. He didn't ask it again, knew she wasn't waiting for him too, that it wasn't the right time, that both of them could wait.

Sydney slowly turned to leave the room, the moment too intense for her to stay rooted in one spot, the momentum of it pushing her forward. So she turned to walk out the door, rather than join him in bed, knowing that he still needed his rest.

But Vaughn was not content to let his mistake stand like that, to let silence be the only thing that spoke for both of them. Almost twisting himself up in the sheets in his hurry to get out of bed, he sprang across the room, not sure where he found the energy to reach the door before she completely walked through it.

He grabbed her wrist, yanking her backwards, somehow keeping her from hitting both the wall and the doorframe; pulling her into his body, her head in both his hands for the simple reason that one was not going to be good enough this time. Her startled gasp was smothered by his lips, drawn out into a nearly strangled moan.

She was lost in him, always lost in him, no matter how many thousands of times they had done this, trusting him to whisper her through, always hoping he would lead her deeper into his depths instead of showing her the way out.

Of everything that she remembered and treasured and savored about him, this was the only time she would always forget. So rapt in this one kiss that surely all the others that came before it could not have been this good; she would have died if they had been, couldn't remember that they were, that each one had been too infinitely wonderful to be surpassed.

He bombarded her senses, making her forget everything else, anything else, until they were the only two left, until even air didn't matter. And the beauty of it, perhaps what was the best of all, was that she knew he felt the same way, that he was just as mesmerized, just as lost in her as she was in him.

Maybe ten seconds. Probably less. But it didn't matter, because regardless of the length of time, it seemed to have stretched on to forever; the moment their lips touched, it was sweet rapture, pure bliss.

But Sydney knew she had to pull away; she had known the moment he had touched her, although that hadn't stopped her from returning what was offered. But he still needed his rest; she could sense how tired he was, how standing was becoming effort.

It took her even more effort for her to pull away, tearing her lips from his and resting against his forehead. He smiled down at her, hands still holding up her head, fingers playing against her hair.

No words were exchanged, none needed now. She pressed a gentle kiss onto his lips, unable to resist them and almost letting him pull her in for more. But she stood back, and he offered her one more shy smile before retreating to the bed without her asking.

Sydney left then, murmuring something about getting his ginger ale, and checking on Ilya before she walked by his room. The little boy had fallen asleep, one arm encircling the stuffed dinosaur's neck, the other holding his thumb securely in his mouth. Sydney covered him with a blanket, completely forgetting anything else that she was supposed to do and standing by the side of his crib.

She watched the child sleep, knew that in their room, Vaughn was sleeping too. And let herself be lulled into a daydream, the words of the night before playing over and over in her head, now something that would be treasured forever instead of erased…

_"Sydsydsyd, baby…"_

_"Shh, Vaughn.__ It's okay…"_

_"Please, Syd. Please… You hafta say yes. You gotta say yes. You just can't… say no…"_

_"Say yes to what?"_

_"Please, Syd, baby? Pleasepleaseplease… I've… I've got it all picked out."_

_"What?"_

_"All picked out, Syd. It'll look so pretty on you…. It's all picked out, I just hafta…"_

_"Shh, Vaughn, honey. Shh… it's okay…"_

"Please, Syd. Say yes… Say you'll marry me…" 

What had made it painful the next day was not the mere fact that it had taken her by surprise, that she hadn't been completely prepared… but that as soon as he finished those words, he had fallen back asleep.

Because despite the fact that she knew his words were spurred on by his fever, they nearly made her delirious as well. 

And had he not fallen back asleep, had he given her the chance… she would have said yes.


	7. Desire

Wrestling Emotions

~~~

Thanks for the reviews everyone! I'm glad you like it Suz and scarlett21. J AnnaSun, you were once again the fastest reviewer _ever_… Sorry it was confusing for awhile, CryHope. But as long as it made sense in the end… And valley-girl2, there are just no words. I couldn't believe it when I saw your review. And you typed that _twice_? Thank you _so_ much. I loved it!

~~~

Chapter 7: Desire

For nearly two days, Sydney had _two_ little boys to take care of, ignoring the fact that her own stomach was churning and catering to the both of them. But almost exactly forty-seven hours after he had given in to his fever, Vaughn prodded her from sleep with a long, lazy kiss, nearly suffocating her with the surprise of it, the desire it contained.

"Feeling better?" she asked with a laugh as he began to trail downwards.

It was amazing how he could make her forget everything else, almost making her feel better with just the touch of his lips. Sydney didn't plan on telling him that she didn't feel well; she didn't feel particularly awful, surely not as bad as Vaughn had been, and was fully capable of functioning. As sick as Vaughn had been, it had only been a couple days; she would be completely better soon. There was simply no need to worry him, for him to know.

"Mmm…" Vaughn moaned into her neck, removing his lips from her skin so he could look into her eyes, forcing her to disregard everything else and focus solely on him, not as if that was an especially difficult order to follow. "Does this mean I don't get waited on anymore?"

She grinned at him, loving how he responded in kind, leaning into her touch as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh, definitely."

He tried to frown, to stick out his lower lip, begging her to change her mind. But he only succeeded in widening his smile, leaning back down towards her and taking her bottom lip between his teeth.

"I'm starving."

There was no mistaking his tone, the harshness of his whisper as it vibrated against her skin. There was also no mistaking the way the blood stirred within her at the sound of his voice…or the way her stomach chose this unfortunate moment to once again begin its acrobatics.

"Well, that I can take care of," she responded, returning the kiss and taking advantage of the opportunity it afforded her to quickly slide from under him before he could fully trap her with his body. She slipped from the bed, glad she had made sure to stand far enough away from him so that he couldn't reach her when he stretched out his arm, knowing that she wouldn't have been able to refuse him no matter how she felt, as long as she was still conscious.

Immediately, his eyes snapped open, expression like a crestfallen four year old who has just been told that he can't get a puppy, bringing out the puppy dog eyes to try to convince that he should, to make her reconsider. For a moment she almost found her way back into his arms anyway, not caring about anything else. But after a tentative step in his direction, almost enough for his outstretched fingers to brush against her skin, she quivered, but did not go any further.

"Syd…"

And rather than giving in like he had hoped, finding his voice irresistible and dashing towards him, she laughed. Was Michael Vaughn actually whining?

It had to be true. That one syllable was stretched out perfectly, the pitch unmistakable. He had come close to matching it many times before, but never quite reached it. This time, he had perfected it, for a moment transforming into his surely adorable three-year-old self right before her eyes.

"Vaughn, it's almost 11:30…"

His bewildered glance at the clock only confirmed her statement, praying that she was wrong, that they had more time. Damn… He had been watching her sleep for quite awhile and would have kissed her awake a hell of a lot earlier if he had known it was that late.

"… I'm sure Ilya's hungry too, and don't you have to…"

"Yeah," he answered before she could finish, sighing and rolling out of bed. Of course she would have remembered what he had been trying to forget; she remembered everything, good or bad.

He was supposed to have gone into work yesterday to check on the progress of things and see if his verbal briefing would help. Sydney had called for him and changed it to this afternoon, allowing him time to fully recuperate.

Vaughn stood by the side of the bed, his right hand running up and down his other arm, his eyes not leaving the woman who stood before him. Sydney smiled, almost embarrassed, crossing her arms in front of her even though she was fully clothed. For a moment, he thought he had her, thought she had given up trying to resist, but then she turned and reached into a drawer, extracting a clean pair of his boxers from where they intermingled with her own things in the shared dresser, and tossing them to him.

"Get dressed."

He watched silently as she shivered, pulled a sweater on over her tank top and walked from the room; heard her footsteps as they stopped, her voice greeting the child that slept down the hall and not getting a reply. With a sigh, he headed into the bathroom, turning the water on almost as cold as it would go, not caring that he had just gotten over being sick.

~~~

Vaughn returned a little more than six hours later. The debrief had been slow and tedious, thousands of questions asked, but not many answered. They had almost called Sydney in, but he had just barely prevented it, more than likely scaring the young agent from whose hand he had torn away the telephone with harsh words and clawing fingers.

He had never thought it would come to an end. The minutes adding themselves slowly in his head the entire time, piling one on top of the other in his head, weighing almost more than he could handle. But the heavy burden dissolved the moment he turned the handle and opened his apartment door.

He went straight to the kitchen almost out of habit, but this time following his heart and not his stomach. Sydney was there, as he had known she would be, bending over and checking on something in the oven.

Smiling to himself, he remained in the doorway a few moments, admiring the view, but not with animal-like hunger like any other man would. Desire was there, that was an obvious given; and as stupid as it was, he always enjoyed seeing Sydney in this sort of normal, everyday situation: bending over the oven, with a dishrag in her hand, answering the telephone, walking through the front door…

He couldn't count the amount of times that she would begin a household task and be stopped in the middle of it, the number of times a dust rag had been forgotten and dropped from quivering fingers; the vacuum had been kicked off with a hurried foot or even left running, not moving from its spot; the bills, junk mail, magazines, and letters scattering across the room... All these chores abandoned as the two of them pressed into the floor, a chair, the couch against a wall, a counter, the table, in bed if they were lucky; whatever surface they had the most patience to reach.

These little chores were things he had dreamed about seeing before, but never thought he would actually get the chance. And even though he finally did get those opportunities hundreds of times a day, he could never get enough.

Vaughn remained in the door for only a handful of seconds, giving in the moment he could no longer take it. Powerless to resist contact with her, he crossed the kitchen floor in three long strides and placed a hand on her shoulder, shivering as he heard her startled gasp, not giving a damn about dinner as he pulled her up and closed the oven door, backing her insistently against the counter.

His lips were on her immediately, not giving her a chance to utter a word or perform any action in response. Finding her forehead, grazing her cheeks, brushing against her nose, discovering her neck… Any bare patch of skin he could find, anywhere and everywhere but her lips.

She laughed breathily, nearly fainting into his arms, her mind finally putting together a string of words that made sense, her lips breathing them out to him. "How was work?"

He took no notice of her words, continuing his sweet assault on her body and senses. She held him at arm's length, ignoring his protests, just managing to form his name into a question and keeping it from being completely smothered by a moan.

"Vaughn?"

His eyes met hers, the irises dark with passion, a bashful smile stumbling across his lips. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled, and he knew that as soon as he told her how work was, she would _have_ to let him have his way.

"Good," he answered, taking advantage of her fingers on his shoulders and turning his head to kiss them. "They're following a few leads, but have nothing definite quite yet. I gave Devlin our report."

She nodded, smiling at him. For a moment he felt like a little boy who had just given a spectacular oral presentation and had been praised by his teacher. His young, hopelessly attractive, female teacher, who he had somehow managed to fall deeply in love with sometime between homeroom and history class. And wasn't it just about time for show and tell…

Before he knew what had happened, Sydney was no longer holding him back, moving away from him to glance once more in the oven. For the first time in his life, Vaughn found himself madly jealous of a kitchen appliance, nearly considered smashing it to the apartment below so that he would be the sole owner of one Miss Bristow's hands and eyes, her full body, desire, and attention.

Reaching out with a quick hand, Vaughn shut off the oven, capturing her lips before she could voice a protest, his heart singing when she opened her mouth to him, pulled him closer. She was turning to clay in his arms and he could have molded her into anything he wanted, anything at all. But he was gentle, his touch desperate but soft, so insanely careful not to change anything about her, knowing he couldn't make her any more perfect than she already was.

"Dinner… later…" The only two words he managed to groan out when he moved his lips to the corner of her mouth. As much as he tried to deny it, air was still a requirement.

"Vaughn…"she murmured, whimpering as his hands slid further down her back, grasping at her possessively even though nobody else was there to take her from him.

"God, Syd… You're so… _beautiful_…"

He had said that to her countless times before. There must have been other words to describe her, words that would work better, say so much more. But he was too occupied on other demands and activities to think about rhetoric. Like trailing kisses up her jaw line, down her neck…

Two days on the mission, one busy day after (although for the life of him, he couldn't remember with what), and two more spent sick. It was only five days, but it felt like an eternity, truly was the longest they had ever gone without each other. Eric would have a field day with that one if he knew, once he had hidden the fact that he was jealous as hell…

Sydney tilted her head to give him better access and pulled him closer. Forgetting that there had been reasons why they shouldn't be doing this, couldn't understand why she had fought him in the first place; she had never put up a protest before, would never dream of it.

She didn't know what it was that screamed to her to open her eyes. Didn't know how her eyelids obeyed when she was wrestling desperately against the order. Instinct alone forcing her eyes open, winning the battle as she fought to keep them closed and widening them even further with what she saw.

"Vaughn…"

She froze under his touch; he noticed that even before he picked up on her change in tone. Something echoed in his ears. An almost too soft to be heard pitter-pattering, like raindrops on a roof at night, but not as natural and relaxing. Out of place in this context, the jumbled words of a sentence read pages before it should have been.

Tiny sneakers stumbling across the floor, the sound flooding over him like a torrent of icy water, stinging his skin and dulling his senses.

Ilya had left his television show in the living room, his bottle empty, and was now holding it before them, silently demanding more juice. Unaware of what he had interrupted and innocently sucking his thumb, he was the sweetest unwanted interruption that either Sydney or Vaughn had ever seen.

But as adorable as it was, it was still an interruption. Still unwelcome, exasperating, superfluous; something that shouldn't have been there.

Vaughn swallowed his frustration, sighing as Sydney left his arms and refilled Ilya's bottle. The little boy removed his thumb from his mouth and took it from her, plopping down on the ground and quietly drinking his juice, no intention of going anywhere any time soon.

"I'm sorry," Sydney whispered, staying a few steps away from him as the remorse came creeping up behind her once again. Vaughn could see its shadow poised over her head, fangs bared, lunging, preparing to bite.

But he held a hand out to her, pulling her into his arms as soon as her fingers touched his own, tugging her out of danger just as the snake of guilt jerked forward to strike, disintegrating when it found nothing to sink its teeth into, to poison with its blurring, black venom.

Vaughn put an arm around her and planted a kiss on her forehead, frowning at the warmth of her skin and letting his lips linger there to gauge the heat. When he replaced his lips with his hand, she knew exactly what he was doing and tried to slip out of his grasp. He wouldn't let go.

"Syd, you feel warm."

She realized there was no way out of it and offered him a small smile, trying to brush it off as something else. They _had_ just been…

"No, I mean _warm_, warm. Fever warm."

He already had those adorable forehead wrinkles, the ones she used to dream about having the chance to smooth away before he had finally screwed protocol and kissed her. His genuine concern was liquefying her, reducing her to a puddle at his feet. 

The guilt began to waver back into being with her next thought, flickering in and out of existence as if it couldn't make up its mind as to what to do, finally deciding to disappear into the shadows and try its luck from there…

_It didn't really count as lying if it was to keep him from worrying… right?_

"I'm fine." For the moment. But she left out the fact that she had already taken more than the recommended dose of Tylenol and was trying to come up with a way to get out of eating dinner without concerning him.

The guilt blinked its fiery eyes out from the shadows, thinking that it might just get its meal after all, hissing greedily at the thought, the sound buzzing in Sydney's ears…

But Vaughn had already left the room, returning with the thermometer and turning the oven back on as he passed it. He took her temperature with all the tenderness of a mother, pulling her head to his chest and kissing the top of her head as he read the thermometer. "99.6."

_99.6?_ That shouldn't even be counted as a fever. Her temperature couldn't have been _one_ damn degree lower…

"See? It's not that high. I…"

"You already took Tylenol," he stated, and she couldn't deny it. "Come on."

She gave in as he took her hand and brought her to the living room, leaving the guilt behind to slither slowly away. He sat her on the couch, lifting her feet onto the other end and covering her with the afghan. Ilya had followed them and remained standing, carefully examining the whispers and soft caresses that were exchanged.

Vaughn picked up the remote, flipping through the channels until he saw a bright blue dog jump across the screen. "This okay?" he asked, the question was posed to Sydney but he looked to Ilya as he said it.

"Perfect," Sydney mumbled, realizing suddenly how drained she was and trying desperately not to let her eyes close, not to fall asleep. She didn't want Vaughn to have to take care of Ilya, to feed him, to put him to bed… He would have done it all with a smile, but he shouldn't have to, it shouldn't be his responsibility…

But by giving in to Vaughn, she had given in completely. Sleep and sickness overcame her, taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability and stealing upon her like thieves in the night.

He watched her sleep; she was so calm, so relaxed. It was mesmerizing. He could have stood there for hours, long after the kids' TV shows had gone off the air, long after the sun had set, and even after it had risen again. Just watching her, nothing else. Her chest rise and fall as she sighed in her sleep, her face without a hint of worry, almost smiling…

A whiff of smoke sent him careening back to reality, startling him for a moment, his eyes dashing around as he tried to determine what was on fire. They hit on Ilya. The child was standing at his feet, so close that he was nearly on top of them, almost touching his legs, craning his neck so that his face was almost directly upwards in order to meet Vaughn's eyes.

But now was not the time for a staring contest, to pull out their swords and battle for the affections of the sleeping beauty who lay on the couch before them. The burning scent still hung in the air, stinging his nostrils.

Dinner.

Vaughn was in the kitchen and opening the oven door almost before Ilya realized that he had left the room. What appeared to be – or at least had been – lasagna stared back through the smoke to Vaughn's watering eyes, bubbling furiously. Grabbing a nearby dishtowel, Vaughn quickly removed it from the oven.

The lasagna now sat on top of the stove, a faint stream of smoke rising from its blackened surface. He followed the trail up with his eyes, dashing to open a window and grabbing the towel to fan at the dish before the smoke detector could go off. He didn't want it to wake Sydney, but even more than that, he didn't want her to know that he had… _slightly_ burned their dinner.

Ilya had toddled into the kitchen some time during all of this and stood quietly regarding the scene. His eyes were a question, completely innocent to any casual viewer. But Vaughn read them differently, saw a hint of laughter gleaming there. _Look what you did…_

He put down the dishtowel and brought a finger to his lips, whispering loudly, "Don't tell Sydney."

The child sighed, seeming to consider this order and whether it would be worth his while to follow it. He put his thumb into his mouth, and Vaughn took that as a signal of agreement.

"Thanks," he murmured, carefully eyeing the dish that still sat on the countertop and glancing into the living room.

Sydney was out cold and he didn't have the heart to wake her. It would be up to him to either fix the lasagna or make something else for dinner. He could have handled this if left to himself, but he had little Ilya to think of as well, and as far as Vaughn was concerned, if Sydney had made lasagna for dinner then it was something that the little boy could eat if it were cut into small enough pieces.

Grabbing a spatula from the drawer, Vaughn stood before the blackened dish, brandishing the utensil like a weapon and considering his course of action. Bringing a hand down to steady the dish, he had the spatula about halfway to the lasagna before he felt the singeing pain of his burning fingers.

Yelping, Vaughn retracted his hand, bringing the tingling fingers to his mouth. Ilya took a step closer, his thumb still in his mouth, his eyes catching Vaughn's. It would have made a sweet picture, the grown man nursing his wounded fingers while the little boy stood sucking on his thumb. But no one was there to hold the camera.

Realizing how closely he mirrored the twenty-month-old child before him, Vaughn quickly took his fingers from his mouth. "Don't tell Syd about this either."

Trying again, and this time careful not to touch the pan, Vaughn succeeded in extracting the top layer of cheese and noodles from the lasagna, glad that at least the inner portions underneath had escaped the wrath of the forgotten oven.

Vaughn cut a piece for himself and took a square out of the direct center of the pan for Ilya, wanting to be sure that he didn't get any of the crispy, harder to chew noodles from the edges. After almost pureeing the lasagna in his effort to cut it into bite-sized pieces, Vaughn set the plate on the table, picked up Ilya, and sat him in his seat.

Placing his own plate on the table, Vaughn joined the little boy, his eyes sweeping over Sydney's usual seat, wishing that she were there, knowing that she would make the situation more comfortable. He started to eat. The lasagna was pretty good, all things considered, but across the table, Ilya hadn't touched his food.

Vaughn put his fork down, meeting the child's unending stare and deciding not to fight it. "Want something to drink? Some juice?"

Ilya didn't answer, but Vaughn got up and retrieved a bottle anyway, filling it half with juice and half with water as he had seen Sydney do earlier. He placed the bottle down in front of the boy and sat back down. Ilya watched him, but still did not touch his food.

Vaughn sighed. He had thought that they were getting on better footing after that first day. But while he had been sick, he hadn't seen the child at all. Two days was a long time when you weren't even two years old, practically a lifetime, plenty of time to forget.

"_Sydney_ made it," Vaughn tried, piercing a piece of lasagna with his fork and holding it up. "I only took it out of the oven… And burnt it," he mumbled to himself.

The child grasped a noodle with his thumb and forefinger, holding it up and staring at it, nearly igniting it with his eyes.

And Vaughn almost panicked. He knew that the kid had to eat, but what if he couldn't get him to? What if he really was a failure at all this parenting stuff? What would happen if he and Sydney had kids of their own someday and…

With that thought, Vaughn took a deep breath, determined to succeed, to make things right. He picked up his plate, moving to Sydney's seat and sliding it closer to Ilya. "It's good, see?" he murmured, and his voice was as patient, soft, and kind as if the child had been his own. He ate what was on his fork, chewing deliberately and swallowing before smiling and adding, "Mmm…"

For a moment he thought that this course of action had been a failure as well, and he didn't know what else to do. But to his relief, Ilya finally put a piece of the lasagna in his mouth and began to chew. Maybe this pseudo-parenting thing wasn't that bad after all.

The two of them finished their meals in silence. Vaughn was afraid to chew too loudly lest that distract the child into not eating again. As soon as they were done, Vaughn brought the little boy back out to the living room, checking to make sure that Sydney was sleeping peacefully before heading back to the kitchen to destroy all evidence of his sorry excuse for a dinner.

It took him half an hour to scrub out the dish that the lasagna had been in. By the time he had finally tackled the entire project, the dish sparkled and the sun had almost set. He figured it was late enough to put Ilya to bed.

Changing the child was somewhat of a project; Sydney wasn't there to guide his actions and smile at him when he had finished, to offer encouragement just by her presence. Vaughn only put the diaper on backwards once before getting it right, changing Ilya into his pajamas and laying him in the crib.

The little boy was wide-eyed, with no intention of going to sleep any time soon, and if Vaughn had actually thought about it, he would have realized that he had no idea how to get a small child to sleep. 

But he didn't think as he tucked the stuffed dinosaur in next to Ilya, running his fingers through the child's hair and crooning a lullaby he remembered his mother singing to him as a child. He didn't know the name of the song, and honestly couldn't have repeated any of the words if someone had asked, but he sang anyway.

Somehow the French flowed naturally off his tongue, as if the words had always been there, waiting. He continued the song even after Ilya had closed his eyes, letting the words finish themselves, trailing off when they were sure the child was asleep.

Back in the living room, Sydney was still fast asleep, cheeks flushed, but her forehead not too warm to his gentle touch. The sun had set completely; leaving the room bathed only in the flickering light of the television and the glow from the hallway.

Vaughn clicked off the TV, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind Sydney's ear. It was still relatively early, but Sydney was utterly exhausted and there wasn't anything else for him to do. As carefully as if she had been made of glass, he took her into his arms, surprised at how light she was, and easily carried her down the hall to their bedroom.

She didn't wake as he lay her down on his side of the bed, her head on his pillow where it belonged, not bothering to change her out of the sweat pants and tank top she was already wearing. He stood watching her for a moment, marveling at what he had.

Dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, he spun around, stripping down to his boxers and brushing his teeth before joining her in bed, throwing the covers over them both. Turning so that he was fully against her, he wrapped her in his arms, smiling as he surveyed the empty half of the bed. The two of them curled up to close together, that they could have probably gotten away with a twin bed… at least for sleeping purposes.

Vaughn lay there with her in his arms for hours, even when he had to battle away the Sand Man in order to keep his eyes open. As fantastic as his dreams were sure to be, they were nothing compared to this simple reality, to what he already had.

When he had almost given in to the waves of sleep that threatened to overtake him, was caught in the fuzzy, comforting world between sleeping and waking, Sydney twisted in his arms, buzzing him to full alert. He swept a tender hand against her forehead, but it seemed even cooler than when he had last checked it.

Brushing up against her neck, he placed a whisper of a kiss on her throat to comfort her. She sighed in her sleep, turning so that she was as close to him as she could be, so that they took up even less space in the bed. Vaughn held her tighter, holding his breath as he heard her breathing change, her voice mumbling to him as she slept.

He didn't know why, but he loved that she talked in her sleep. Not because he wanted to discover things that she wouldn't tell him; her words rarely made sense, leftover parts of dreams that had yet to finish. But because of the innocence and simplicity, the sweetness of it, her melodious voice echoing to him in the night. It was something else he had never thought he'd hear.

"Vaughn…"

She would only talk in her sleep if something were really bothering her, and he knew that these past few days had been taxing on everyone, but Sydney had taken on the burden of it. Vaughn tried his best to soothe her without having to wake her, knowing that this had been the most sleep she had gotten in one stretch in quite awhile.

"… Yes…"

His heart almost stopped when he heard her, thought that maybe he hadn't heard right, that she had said something else. He had heard that word from her numerous times before: followed by 'sir' when affirming an order, as a simple answer to a simple question, gasped in the throes of passion…

But never like this.

Of course he had thought about it before, thought about it every day. But something in the back of his mind, surely another whisper from the thought monster that had succeeded in frightening before, had hissed to him that Sydney didn't want it, would never want it, never want him completely.

They _had _only been living together for three months, almost. In a few days, it would be three months exactly to the first night that she had first been in his (theirs now) bed, locked tightly in his arms. They had been driving home from a hockey game. She had been mid-sentence, laughing about the Zamboni, and he had blurted it out: _Move in with me…_ He hadn't even realized he had said it until the words left his mouth, loved that they had the second she had answered him, not verbally, but still with her lips, almost making him drive right off the road. And she had slept at his apartment (their apartment) since that night…

It _had_ only been four months since he had first slept with her, since he had known for sure what he had suspected before: that he would never want anyone else. That very first time was too hurried and full of lust to truly be called making love; that was reserved for the events the entire night following, and every other time thereafter. Four months ago found them in the closet of the Ops Center, one hour and forty-seven minutes after SD-6 had been taken down, thirty seconds after he had finally cornered Sydney alone. He would have waited until they got home later, would have made the occasion more momentous, more comfortable, but Sydney's lips had been burning, her hands insistent and roaming, just as his were sure to have been. Neither of them could have waited, not even after Weiss had opened the door…

And it _had_ only been four months and three and a half weeks since he had first kissed her, first felt her lips on his own. They had been in the warehouse after a mission gone horribly wrong, and he had been trying to console her. When an almost businesslike hand on the shoulder hadn't worked, and even a more friendly hug had failed, it had been the only thing he could think to do. She had responded almost immediately, hands rubbing his shoulders and back, tears quickly drying. He knew that it had been dangerous, had vowed never to kiss her again until it was safe for both of them, especially for her. But they had, each and every time they met in the self-storage center. Had almost gone much further than that countless times, and he was still surprised that they had been able to wait as long as they did…

_But_ he had known her for almost two and a half years, and was so deeply in love with her now that he couldn't remember a time when it hadn't been like that, couldn't remember a time when he hadn't slept with her in his arms…

It was amazing how many thoughts had overrun his mind in those few seconds after she had spoken, as he tried to determine whether his question the other night had been completely out of line, or he had misheard her…

But when she spoke again, he could no longer doubt what she had said, what she would have said, and almost had…

"…Yes, Vaughn… Yes…"

He knew the question she was answering, knew that it didn't count for real, knew they had only been living together for three months, had only been sleeping together for four, had only kissed three and a half weeks before that, but…

His smile was so wide that he was sure either his face would split in two or the sheer radiance of it would wake her. He almost woke her himself with a smoldering kiss, and if he had he would have asked her for real without a second thought.

But he held it back; didn't have the heart to arouse her from her slumber, to awaken her from her dreams.

Sleep took even longer to find him than it had before; dreams, dreams that could very easily become realities, running through his mind at an alarming speed, each vying for his complete attention even with his eyes fully open. When he finally did allow them to flutter to a close, the dreams continued, almost too good to be true…

The shrill ringing of the phone woke him, only three and a half hours after he had finally closed his eyes. Startled, Sydney jumped in his arms, her stomach somersaulting. Vaughn grabbed her tightly, caressing her arm as he reached one hand over and felt for the phone, nearly knocking it off the nightstand before answering.

"'lo" he slurred, taking his free arm from around Sydney and attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Sydney burrowed further under the covers, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes that it would lure her back to sleep. She couldn't hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but she could tell who it was from the way Vaughn sprung to almost full alert as soon as he had answered, the formality of his tone.

"Yes… No, she's… No! She caught that flu virus… Oh. Yes, sir… I understand… In an hour."

He hung up with a sigh, not moving for a few moments before gently leaning over and kissing Sydney's lips to fully wake her. His voice was soft, nearly regretful as he spoke, his words opening her eyes, making her stomach flutter once again.

"Syd, baby, we have to go in." The phrase was punctuated with a tender kiss of apology, a soft hand on her shoulder. "They need us to bring Ilya."


	8. The Shock of Simple Words

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Thanks AnnaSun, Raina, and Caz… Lol, CryHope. You can never love Vaughn too much… And valley-girl2, I definitely consider myself lucky. J… Thanks again everyone!... And just a warning: There is lots of boring info packed in here. Sorry. Hopefully, you'll think it gets better by the end…

~~~

Chapter 8: The Shock of Simple Words

With a sigh, Vaughn lay back down beside her, wrapping his arms around her as they had been before. "I told him you weren't feeling well," he murmured into her shoulder, "but…"

"Who was it?" Sydney asked, rolling over in his arms, neither moving quickly to get out of bed, neither wanting to admit that they had to be up, that they had to actually go into work. And most of all, neither of them wanting to ask what they knew the other was thinking, wanted to even consider why they had to bring Ilya in with them.

"Your dad… Syd…"

The curtains were drawn, the dim near-dark of early morning not seeping much into the room. But he could still make out her haggard features, could still see that she wasn't completely well, that something wasn't right.

"I'm fine." She said it with a sigh, in a tone that would hardly convince a stranger, much less this man who knew absolutely everything about her.

Vaughn flicked on the lamp at their bedside, using its soft glow to scrutinize her even further, his smile soft, almost sad. He brushed his fingertips down her cheek, wondering how to put what he was thinking to words without having it come out wrong, deciding that it didn't matter, that she would understand him anyway.

"Now Syd, don't take this the wrong way but… you look like death."

"Death?" she repeated, twisting her tone so it became a question. But she almost smiled as she said it, knowing that he hadn't meant to offend, was probably right. The familiar wrinkles in his forehead mirroring the genuine concern that she read in his eyes, heard in the soft, careful tone of his voice.

"Gorgeous death, of course," he added quickly, and the swiftness of it really brought a smile to her lips this time. "But still death. Maybe you should…"

"I'm all right, Vaughn. Really." She sat up for emphasis, closing her eyes for a little longer than the time it should have taken to blink, willing herself to compartmentalize, for the aching and nausea to disappear.

He knew it was an act, but let her get away with it. She was stubborn as anything and if she hadn't given in by now, she wasn't going to. So instead he kissed her softly, noting, at least, that her fever was down, and enjoyed the few extra moments they took before finally getting out of bed.

They got ready quickly, opting not to shower together because although it might have saved time, given their history, it was much more likely to make them late. Ilya was dressed without conversation, his wild hair tamed as best they could. Coffee was bought at a nearby drive-thru to save time, but Sydney only took a few small sips, the rest of the cup going cold.

Walking through the doors of the CIA building was different this time, better somehow. Ilya still clung to Sydney as if his life depended on it, his thumb still caught in his mouth as it had been before. Vaughn kept his arm around Sydney as they made their way through the building, but this time a diaper bag was slung over his right shoulder, the shooting stars that adorned the dark blue fabric smiling at curious onlookers.

They ignored the gazes of those they passed, in all honesty not even noticing they were there. By this time, most everyone in the building had been briefed, either formally or through gossip, and at least knew _why_ the two agents were in possession of this child. But no one who laid eyes on Sydney, Vaughn, and little Ilya was prepared for how natural the three of them looked together, how right it seemed for them to walk in just as they were. It was as if their nanny had called in sick for the day and the couple had been forced to bring their child into work until they could find a babysitter.

"Are you okay?" Vaughn whispered in Sydney's ear as they made their way to the briefing room. He knew that she didn't feel well, but something else seemed to be off about her, something else on her mind. And the fact that he didn't know what it could be was killing him.

"Yeah." Sydney stopped walking and turned to face him, frowning. "Why?"

He lowered his voice even further, knowing that those around were trying to listen and not wanting them to hear. "You just seem…" But he couldn't place it, couldn't find a word that would describe it exactly. "You haven't said a word all morning."

She thought she had done a better job hiding it, had been able to convince him that she was okay. Maybe she wasn't as great a spy as everyone thought… But that wasn't it… Maybe she should have known better, and realized that she could fool anyone and everyone in the world. Except Michael Vaughn.

"I… I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

Concern was pooling in his eyes. He hated that his ability to read her thoughts was so subconscious that he completely lost it when he tried to discover what she was thinking, when he wanted most desperately to know what was going on in her mind so he could change it, brush away her fear and replace it with reassurance.

A thousand thoughts were racing through her head, barely slowing enough for her to count the laps they had already made, one replacing the other with frightening speed. Most of them centering on things that should be spoken of when they were alone, enveloped in darkness, hands locked together, legs intertwined; in soft whispers where the truth couldn't help being found. Not in the bright, demanding, accusing lights of the hallway outside the briefing room. But not here; not now…

Except one.  The small child shifted in her arms, pulling away from her shoulder and gazing up at her. He was the reason they were here, after all, and in all truth, some of the thoughts dashing through her mind were about him. It would be absurd if they weren't…

"Ilya."

Vaughn nodded, sensing that she wasn't telling him everything, that the complete truth was still hidden. It wasn't the first time that day he had doubted her answer, but somehow felt she had her reasons for covering whatever it was that had snagged itself in her mind, wreaking all kinds of havoc as she tried to loosen it, only capturing itself further.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"I know," she answered quietly, taking a deep breath to calm the nerves that for some reason wouldn't stop tingling. "Can we just wait out here for a second?"

Vaughn nodded. He would have granted her anything she wished for, things a thousand times more difficult than this simple request. They waited in the hall, silence enveloping the two of them in their own little world, removing them from everything else, giving her room to breathe.

He waited until she looked up at him, the anxiety that had been in her eyes just moments before replaced with her usual confidence. At that instant, he realized how much this woman truly amazed him, in so many different ways, on so many levels; and almost bent towards her to whisper it in her ear. But his fingers brushed against the door and he opened it instead, ushering her inside with soft eyes and one last, lingering touch on her shoulder.

They had walked right by dozens of ogling eyes just moments before, but they couldn't ignore the blatant stares that were shooting at them from within the briefing room. Devlin, Jack, Weiss and a few other younger agents: Martin, Mraz, and Lee; Sydney remembered after a moment, most likely pulled in to do the bulk of the background research.

The older men's gazes were icily cool and critical; the two younger men mirroring their older mentors with perfection. Only two positive, friendly responses were offered, a little wave from Weiss and the tiniest of smiles from the young Agent Lee, whom Sydney recalled meeting only a couple weeks earlier.

But these greetings were swallowed by the serious, forbidding atmosphere, largely outnumbered by their frigid counterparts. Weiss' wave slowed and tapered off; the young woman's smile dissolving almost as soon as it appeared.

A soft thud reverberated through the room as Vaughn dropped the diaper bag, suddenly realizing that he shouldn't be carrying it, how ridiculous it must have seemed. The shooting stars fell to the ground, unknowing smiles still plastered on their faces, almost, but not quite relieving the tension, definitely blocking the door. 

Noiselessly, they slipped into their seats. Sydney turned Ilya in her lap, the little boy's eyes meeting those across the table. He took his thumb out of his mouth, glancing at it momentarily, before thinking better of his decision and popping it back between his lips, turning away from the table and snuggling back into Sydney's arms, hiding his face in her chest. She ran her fingers softly through his hair. All eyes were on the child now; it was no wonder they had quickly overwhelmed him, forced him to give up his cool stare.

It was during that sickeningly silent moment that Sydney realized the absurdity of the situation, the picture they would have made. She turned her glance to Ilya, just as everyone else was, noting, not that it was strange that the child was there, but that his bright clothing contrasted so extremely with the dark suits and mute walls that surrounded them. And for that one second all she could think of was how she wished she had not chosen a bright red shirt to go underneath the little boy's overalls.

Jack was the first to speak, his voice cutting almost angrily through the heavy silence. "You're late."

Sydney sighed, finally daring to take a breath. Her relationship with her father had slowly deteriorated ever since she had gotten together with Vaughn. She had hoped that they would have been past all this by now, but she knew her father was beginning to come around. This time, he had called the apartment to reach both of them; a week ago, he would have dialed both cell phones separately, refusing to acknowledge that in all likelihood, the two agents were mere inches from each other, if that far apart.

But before either Sydney or Vaughn could open their mouths in explanation or apology, Devlin spoke. "Gentlemen, ladies… Shall we begin?"

Jack nodded, standing and turning on the projector with the click of a button, a picture of the Russian compound materialized on the screen, nearly unrecognizable in its clarity, without the swirling snow, the biting wind, and pounding of her own heart.

"You're all aware that the team sent to Russia found little evidence of the massacre that was believed to take place there?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, Weiss especially vigorously. Sydney almost shouted out that there was nothing believed about it, that it had been real, painfully, horribly real. But a soft pressure on her thigh, Vaughn's hand, silenced her before her words had a chance to escape. When she turned to offer him a look of gratitude, his eyes smiled softly and understandingly into her own.

"We followed leads pointing to terrorist groups in that area, but have yet to come to any certain conclusions as to exactly who it might have been."

"You've found _nothing_?" Sydney asked accusingly, unable to bite the thought back, to keep her words or tone from spilling forth even with Vaughn's fingers increased their pressure, began to run in gentle circles over her skin. 

"Not exactly. We had a breakthrough in intelligence no long after Agent Vaughn left yesterday, and we believe we have discovered the identities of the victims." He clicked the remote, a Russian phrase projected onto the screen. "Intel points to a group whose – "

"Family United?" Sydney questioned, translating the words and glancing at her father for confirmation.

Jack nodded, but Vaughn spoke before he could give a vocal answer. "I've never heard of them. Are they a big threat?"

"That's just the thing," Weiss answered, not waiting for Jack or Devlin to ask him to speak, determined to give his two cents after being ordered to stay late into the night to lead the younger agents in researching the group. "They're not terrorists. They're like… a kind of cult, like the _anti_-terrorists…"

Jack cut him off there. "Among various religious and political beliefs, they aim to prevent certain outlawed groups from obtaining important information or weapons…"

"I was just getting to that," Weiss muttered from across the table, something akin to a sneer pointed in Jack's direction.

"Agent Weiss. Do you have anything further to add?"

The moment Jack spoke and turned to face him, Weiss backed down, seeming to remember who exactly Jack Bristow was. The glare immediately washed itself from his face, features painted with his best kiss-ass smile. "No, sir."

"Very well. They're very small-scale, and not much is known about them. Nothing more than a group of young adults, and in some cases their children, who – " 

"Family United," Weiss pointed out, raising his eyebrows and nodding matter-of-factly, making sure everyone understood this connection.

"Thank you." A hint of bitterness edged the civility in Jack's voice as he mumbled the two words and continued. "Who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time." He turned his attention back to the group and nodded at the slide projector as he switched the image.

"Reports have verified that many members of this group are indeed missing, including what are believed to be its ringleaders: Akim Kavalek, Pavel Viskovatoi, and Katja Domaslavov," he continued, changing the picture with each name before switching it to an enlarged view of the documents that Sydney had retrieved.

The pictures were a paradox; the expressions filled with such determination and implied strength, but the people wearing them barely old enough to be considered adults. The first man's bristly mustache and serious eyes were almost absurd looking against his other boyish features. The next, fair-haired and with glasses almost too large for his face, the picture oddly discolored, giving his skin a blue tint. Then the woman…

"Wait. Go back."

"Sydney?" Her name was said with a sigh. As much as he cared for his daughter, Jack was growing tired of all the interruptions and wanted to finish giving his report so that Devlin could steer the meeting in its intended direction.

"Domaslavov. Go back."

There was no pressure from Vaughn's hand on her leg as there had been before. He trusted her, knew there was something to this, his eyes pasted on the screen, waiting for the picture to show so he could look for what Sydney saw.

Jack complied, the woman's image once again lighting up the screen, remembrance slamming back with it. The snow, the ice, the punishing wind, the fierce barking, the terrified screams, the sheer panic, the horror, the helplessness, the deafening silence, the blinding darkness, the painful numbness…

"That's her…" Sydney's voice was a whisper, a thought, a voice not meant to be heard by anyone, but perceived by all.

"Syd?"

Vaughn was murmuring in her ear, must have somehow been throwing his voice since he still seemed so far away, separated from her by the interminable few inches between their seats. But no one else was looking at him, no one had heard him speak. Maybe she had only imagined it…

But even if he hadn't spoken aloud, the soft and tender way she had heard him whisper her name was shimmering in his eyes, undulating through his thoughts, beating with his heart...

"When I was in Russia," Sydney began, facing Vaughn as she explained, finding it easier to speak directly to him than to everyone in the room, "and I saw the aftermath of the massacre, this woman was on the steps of the building, the only person I could clearly see because of a light on the stairs. I… I closed her eyes…"

Blurring and stirring and shifting around her, like snow in the wind, smoke in the air. The memory burned within her like paper burning in a fire, lighting instantly with a violent flash of golden flames, trickling quickly away to a glowing orange mass offset by blackened edges, writhing with the intense heat and agony, refusing to completely burn down for some time. Even afterwards, the ash would remain, dark and dirty, rotting her mind, her life, the world with its stench…

"Now, we have a positive ID on the group," Agent Mraz stated, allowing just enough time after Sydney had tapered off to not be considered completely rude. Even the relatively new, younger agents knew enough about Agent Bristow's outstanding intellect and photographic memory to understand that such a comment from her was considered genuine evidence.

Conversation shifted in that direction, everyone adding their ideas as to what could now be done, constructing a timetable, and giving estimates on who the murderers had been and where they could now be found. Everyone, that is, except Sydney and Vaughn.

Sydney shook the memory from her mind, transferring her gaze to the little boy in her lap. He took his thumb out of his mouth, bringing his moist fingers up to her face. She almost laughed at this sweet gesture, but it was not quite enough to stop the single tear that almost dropped into his hauntingly familiar eyes…

"Syd?"

This time, he truly had whispered it, had scooted his chair closer to hers so that only the armrests separated them, quietly as he could so as not to disrupt the flow of the meeting around them, or shatter the few moments they would have before anyone noticed.

Suddenly Sydney felt sick to her stomach, unsure if it was from having to see those eyes so full of the life they had been lacking, or whether she had finally succumbed completely to whatever this virus was that seemed to be holding her with a vice-grip, or…

"Syd, baby…" the soft words falling naturally from his lips, refusing to be overpowered by their foreign and intimidating environment, but still sounding almost strange, seeming to echo too loudly. "Are you okay?"

With a snap, their few moments were over, the air around them charging with the electric tension of unwanted, intruding silence; the invasive, crawling stare of eyes.

"Agent Vaughn?" The words clipped almost with frustration, Devlin's eyebrows raised expectantly.

Vaughn didn't realize until then that this was not he first time his name had been called. But he didn't move his chair away from her or take her hand off her knee, surprising everyone at the meeting, including himself, when his voice asked, "Sir, can you excuse us for a moment?"

Devlin nodded his assent, gesturing towards the door, ignoring Jack's sigh and unaware of the _Attaboy__!_ Smile Weiss was shooting in Vaughn's direction. He added something about making it quick, that they had yet to complete some business concerning the child.

But Vaughn didn't hear anything else as he murmured his thanks, helping Sydney up and leading her out the door, not giving a damn that everyone was watching and putting his hand against the small of her back. He didn't stop right outside the door as Sydney had thought he would, instead pointing her in the direction of Weiss' office, the closest of their three to the briefing room.

Flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him, he took Ilya from her arms and set him on the floor. The child did not look too pleased with this arrangement, but neither he nor Sydney raised any form of protest. Vaughn smiled at the boy in apology, not wasting another second before taking Sydney into his arms.

Normally, she would have been infuriated at having been taken out of a meeting in that way. It was clearly showing, even admitting weakness, something Sydney Bristow wasn't supposed to have. But she didn't say a word, sighing and laying her head on his shoulder. This only made him hold her closer, hug her tighter, glad that he had whisked her out of there and into his arms.

He didn't ask her if she was all right again, already knowing what the answer would be (both the one she would have given, and the truth). He knew how missions like the one she had recently been on drained her, how speaking of them in such a nonchalant manner didn't lessen the pain. Instead he held her close, the fingers on one hand rubbing circles into her side, the other running gently through her hair.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him, her words having to fight past the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

He kissed the top of her head, deciding that as sweet as that gesture was, it wasn't enough; and tilted her face up to his, savoring the thrill of her gasp in his ear, the unique flavor that was her lips on his own, better than anything else he could ever taste.

During this exchange, Ilya's thumb had found his mouth again, and he was quite content to stay where he had been placed until a soft sound lured him over to the door. Only the little boy saw the handle turn, heard the slight squeak as it opened. But they all heard the outburst of the man on the other side, Sydney and Vaughn jumping apart as the first syllable sounded.

"Jesus, Mike! _My _office!" Weiss' eyes widened impossibly further as he noticed Ilya. "Scarred child!" He picked up the little boy and placed him just outside the door to keep him from witnessing anything further. 

"**_My_** _office_!! See the name on the door?" he demanded, swinging it all the way open and pointing to the plaque. "W-E-I-S-S spells Weiss, buddy. _Not_ Vaughn, _not_…"

"Eric, relax."

Vaughn's low, calm voice was strange sounding after Weiss' shouts, but somehow more powerful, breaking through the outcry, if for just a moment. Sydney turned in Vaughn's arms so they were both facing in Weiss' direction, Vaughn's hands sliding around her waist automatically, as if they had been magnetized, as if that had always been their home.

"Dude! Couldn't you have found another storage closet or something? I mean, seriously, a guy's office is…"

Granted, after what he had last witnessed from the two of them, Weiss had every right to assume the worst, but there was clearly nothing going on here. Even so, they wouldn't hear the end of this one for awhile.

"Sydney doesn't feel well," Vaughn began, trying to explain what had happened in the briefing room, wondering how his friend could have missed the way she had become quiet, frozen, how she had nearly broken right in front of them all…

"So you thought you'd try a little sexual healing?" Weiss asked, voice almost back to its normal pitch but quickly changing once again. "In _my_ office. You better not have gotten any…"

"Eric, we're both fully clothed," Vaughn said with a sigh, knowing that his friend wouldn't listen to a full explanation and trying to fool him with logic.

"Well good, because I was sent out to…"

"Sydney." Jack's voice was cool and clipped, Ilya in his arms, eyes wide with terror. "Can you step out into the hall please?"

Sydney obeyed, shooting a confused glance at Vaughn before following her father out the door. She held out her arms to take Ilya, wanting not only to relieve her father, but simply to have the child in her arms. The little boy mirrored her gestures, fighting to get out of Jack's arms; but although Jack looked desperate to put the child down, he did not hand him over.

"Dad…"

"During the few days that you…" Jack paused, shifting his eyes from hers to those she knew were right behind her. "…and Agent Vaughn were on leave, it came to our attention that you are greatly needed, and we would like to place you both back on active duty as soon as possible. It doesn't appear that the terrorists who raided the Russian compound have any personal vendetta against this boy or any of those in the group killed, but were just looking for the documents that are now in our possession. I asked you to bring the child here today so we could remove him from your custody and…"

"Wait…"

"_What_?"

Both words coming out so quickly that she was not even sure who had said what, which one of them sprung from her own lips and which came from Vaughn's. But she didn't let that stop her.

"Dad, you _can't_ take Ilya away from us. Not until you've found a permanent place for him to go, have located his family."

"Sydney, we need you on active duty. The child can adjust to someplace else until…"

"No, he can_not_. He's already gone through so much. You can't keep handing him from person to person whenever it's _convenient_ for the CIA."

She spat the words out as violently as if she had discovered a moment too late that the fruit juice in her cup was actually blood; as if the words had been poison within her and needed a fierce delivery in order to remove the venom from her system completely.

"Sydney…"

"Sydney's right, Jack."

Both men said her name together, but only Vaughn finished his sentence. If Sydney could find such strength in a matter of moments, the least he could do was offer his own strength to her, stand by her side.

Even if it meant going head to head with her father. Not that Vaughn was necessarily _scared_ of Jack Bristow, but the thought of one day having him as a father-in-law was a bit intimidating…

"I'm glad you and my daughter have so much in common, Mr. Vaughn, but…"

Vaughn never heard the end of that sentence. He couldn't see her eyes widen, but he could feel Sydney tense beneath his arms. She turned in his grasp and would have fought to get out of his grip if he hadn't let go. She murmured something quickly to him, something he didn't quite catch but understood that he wanted her to stay where he was, not to let them take Ilya away. She left, running toward the bathroom, sending Weiss scrambling back into his office to get out of her way.

Vaughn almost sprinted off after her, almost forgot everything and ran, knowing that she was the only thing that mattered, the only one that would ever matter. But then he saw the little boy in Jack's arms.

Poor Ilya had become even more distressed as Sydney disappeared from his view, just as he had the day he had been examined by the doctor. His bottom lip quivered and a whimper escaped from his tiny mouth as he began to squirm in Jack's arms.

"These are Director Devlin's direct orders," Jack continued, unfazed by his daughter's strange behavior and quick exit. He had known that she hadn't been feeling well, and as far as he was concerned, that was all there was to know.

"Come on, Jack. You know it's not fair to Ilya."

But while Jack might have at least listened to his daughter's begging, might have considered what she would have said and perhaps been convinced to change his mind, he didn't offer Vaughn the same courtesy.

"Don't make me pull rank, Mr. Vaughn," he stated, his voice crisp, face icy, but Vaughn thought he could detect a hint of regret in his eyes, that perhaps the formidable Jack Bristow thought that this course of action was wrong as well. "I'm following _my_ orders. Now you have to follow yours."

Vaughn never got a chance to answer. One of the younger agents that had been in the briefing room appeared behind Jack. Agent Martin, Vaughn remembered, the one with the funny glasses.

"Are you ready, sir? Devlin is waiting."

Jack handed Ilya to him, the younger agent's eyes bugging out as he took the child, holding him awkwardly. Ilya's whimpers turned to tears, splashing off his eyelashes and down his cheeks. He writhed in the arms of the man who was fighting both to keep hold of him and follow Jack down the hallway.

"Jack…" Vaughn called out, taking a step forward, not sure of what he planned to do, what words he was supposed to say next.

"Don't," Jack interrupted, stopping and turning, nearly colliding with the younger agent, "make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Little Ilya was screaming now, not really sure what was going on, only knowing that to leave was to circle back into the unknown, the cold, the dark, the petrifying loneliness. Only knowing that he didn't know whose arms he was in, and he didn't want to stay there. His howls echoed against the stifling walls, everything else instantaneously hushed to an painful silence.

The building had never heard anything like this before, was unsure what to make of it. Those agents close enough to witness the conversation either busied themselves with paperwork or didn't even try to hide their open stares. Those only catching the echoing cries leapt from their desks, waiting for the warning lights to flash; each glancing around to see who would be the first to evacuate the building.

To think that one little boy could throw the entire Los Angeles branch of the CIA into such tumult. It was definitely information that could be damaging if leaked to the wrong sources.

Wishing Sydney were by his side, wondering, simultaneously, if she was okay, Vaughn's feet moved him mechanically down the hallway. One step, two, and three… His eyes found Ilya's, the little boy's face bright red and swollen with tears. He had met the child's gaze dozens of times in the past few days, but never had it been so helpless, so excruciatingly heartbreaking, so accusing. Vaughn looked away, unable to take the intensity, to stand the guilt.

But when the child's eyes rested on Vaughn, something happened. Something sparked, flashed, flared up and died away, taking the little boy's shrieks with it, letting their echo continue softly and slowly die away, replacing them with something else, his best attempt at a single syllable, the sound rolling strangely off his tiny tongue.

"Bahn!"

Vaughn's head snapped up, shock strapping itself around him, manifesting in his features, glaring out from his widened eyes and pouring out onto the floor in front of him, preventing his feet from any further movement. 

Ilya fought with all the strength he had in his little body against the arms that encircled him, arching his back and kicking his feet in such a way that the already overly anxious agent had to put him down in order to prevent the boy from falling from his arms, to stop his head from hammering mercilessly into the tile floor.

Jack and Martin lunged forward, arms outstretched to grab the child as he darted away, heads so comically close to smashing together that the scene was almost amusing.

Suddenly, Ilya was hurtling into Vaughn with more force than he thought someone so small would be able to manage. The child locked his arms around Vaughn's legs, burying his tear-streaked face in the cloth at his shins for a fraction of a second.

Then two little hands were reaching frantically upward, dark eyes searching the green ones they found above them, his little voice pleading as he cried out again through the tears that continued to spill down his cheeks.

"Bahn! Bahn! Bahn!"

And while there might have been doubt and denial before, might have been uncertainty painted over the one shaky syllable… There could be absolutely no mistake this time, no denying what little Ilya's first word was… Vaughn.


	9. Whispers and Rings

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone!

AnnaSun, you're still the fastest person out there ;)… angela (I think you're over at SD-1, now, but I could be wrong…), either way, I still can't believe you read through the whole thing… I'm glad you like it, neptunestar, Brynne, liz and lightning bug! Thanks for taking the time to review… I love Daddy!Vaughn too, faelai. Just the thought of Vaughn being a father… Here's more Weiss for you, CryHope ;)…  And valley-girl2, you must have more lives than any other person on earth. I love it! J

Thanks again!

~~~

Chapter 9: Whispers and Rings

Without a word, without a thought, without a breath; in less than the beat of a heart, the fluttering of an eyelid, the rushing of blood to heated cheeks, Vaughn snatched Ilya up. The little boy threw his arms around him, burying a tiny, tear-stained face in his neck, and hanging on for dear life.

Vaughn held him just as tightly. It came as naturally as his free hand came to the little boy's head, its fingers running through his hair; as naturally as the lyrics to the French lullaby whispered themselves from his lips, his body rocking back and forth to the instinctive rhythm of the words.

Relief washed through the both of them, each calming the other, one by instinct, the other unaware of the soothing power he possessed. A few moments lapsed before Vaughn remembered the others standing before him: Jack and Martin, both a few feet away, neither trying, neither daring to steal the child from his tender but protective hold.

Vaughn stood before them, suddenly as formidable as a fortress, as accusing as a father whose own child had almost been grabbed from him. He didn't know where the words came from, where he had found such a harsh tone after such a sweet moment. But it was pulled from within him as if it had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to break the weakened bars that had it captured and make a hurtling escape.

"You're not taking him away."

The words and voice caught even Vaughn himself off guard. He had used that tone before, but only a few times. Only in reference to Sydney, and only when she was in danger. Only when something had to be done to protect her, to save her life. 

"He'll leave eventually. When we find his proper guardian."

Trust Jack to be matter-of-fact. While there may have been a flicker of astonishment at Vaughn's words, at the way the younger man boldly stood up to him and thus all authority, Jack was not about to be outdone. At least not right away.

"But not until then," Vaughn whispered, the danger in that simple, low tone multiplied thousands of times more than any yell would have had, his features tensing, eyes flaring with anger.

It was perilous to stand up to a superior like that, especially the one superior who also happened to be the father of the woman he wanted to…

"I'll go speak to Devlin."

With that, Jack left, Martin following on his heels. No fireworks exploded, lighting the sky to declare the occasion; no birds were there to sing sweet songs of success; trumpets and drums did not echo through the hills...

But even so, Vaughn had won.

What he didn't know was that he had had some help. He never found out, was never told that Jack Bristow stood in Director Devlin's office for nearly half an hour trying to convince him that his daughter and yes, even Agent Vaughn, were the best temporary guardians for the child, even threatening to call in a therapist to prove how psychologically damaging moving the boy would be.

Devlin had finally agreed, more because he did not want to face Jack Bristow's wrath than anything else, sighing in defeat and ordering efforts on the case to be redoubled, wanting his two agents back on duty as soon as possible.

But Vaughn had still won. And if he had known that this victory included triumph over Jack Bristow himself and not just his orders, it would have only made it that much more satisfying.

Vaughn sighed with relief, whispering reassuringly to Ilya and rubbing his back. Without thinking, he planted a gentle kiss on the little boy's head, not even realizing he had done it until afterwards, leaving himself wondering if he should have, if it had been the right thing to do.

But if Ilya detested this demonstration of affection, he didn't protest. The child's head lay against Vaughn's shoulder, a thumb in his mouth, as always, the other hand still around Vaughn's neck, clinging there desperately. His breathing had already started to calm, his eyes to flutter closed, the recent emotional and physical events too taxing on such a small mind and body for them to stay open much longer.

Vaughn spun around, expecting to see Sydney behind him to share the smile in her eyes, and suddenly remembered how she had run off, didn't know how he could have forgotten. He quickly walked in that direction, a frantically insane panic suddenly sweeping through him when he realized that she had been gone for quite some time.

But a hand whipping out of an open doorway stopped him in his path, pulling him inside a room and nearly waking the child who had just fallen asleep on his shoulder. He read the letters on the door, couldn't help smiling as he remembered the spelling lecture he had gotten earlier. Weiss.

"Mike…"

"Eric, don't."

But if Vaughn thought that that simple command would stop his friend, then he must have been hanging out with someone other than Eric Weiss all these years. The tirade began, the words startlingly familiar, but put in a different context. 

"Don't you think you're getting a little too emotional here? He's just some damn kid you picked up in Russia. This is your _job_, Mike. You know, that thing you do to earn money? So you don't have to stand on the side of the road begging soda cans off 12-year-old boys? Or bumming off me," he added, hands on his hips. "Again."

"Eric, you don't know what you're talking about."

A simple statement, said with a sigh. In all reality, Vaughn had only been half listening, really did not want to have to get into an argument. He had to find Sydney and…

"I think I do. You…"

Michael Vaughn had just stood up to Sydney's father and Devlin through him. As much as he hadn't wanted to start anything, there was no way in hell he was going to let his friend tell him what he should and shouldn't do. Not about something like this. Weiss had no idea what it was like to hold the child in his arms, to sing him to sleep at night, to see Sydney's eyes when she taught him how to change a diaper, when she…

"No. You haven't been living with this "damn kid" for the past few days. You don't have someone like Sydney, who you think you might have…"

"God, Mike!" Weiss had listened long enough without interrupting, had amazingly let him get through almost two whole sentences, and couldn't take it any longer. "It's not like she's your wife. Who knows what…"

A couple weeks ago, Vaughn had been given the _Asserting Yourself_ lecture from Eric Weiss, ladies' man. It had been painful enough the first time, and he did _not_ need to hear it again or relive that first experience.

Maybe what came out of his mouth to prevent it was not the smartest word he could have uttered, but it was the first one that came to mind, the truth springing to his lips before anything else…

"Yet."

It did serve, however, to stop Eric in his path, unable to continue his lecture until his jaw was scraped up from the ground. All anger, all hints of what might have been that same lecture once again, buzzed away as soon as Weiss received this new, unintentionally given information.

"What? Whoa… have you asked her?"

A seemingly simple question that lacked a real, one hundred percent true answer. _Technically?_

"No."

"Are you gonna? Soon? Don't you think it's too…"

_Too soon?_

He wondered himself if it was too soon, the monsters lurking in his head whispering it to him every thirty seconds, just as he began to feel reassured that it wasn't, spouting doubt where none had to be. But this was a rare moment when the monsters were quiet, perhaps scared away by the strength and determination exhibited earlier, afraid that if they tried to cross Vaughn now, they would surely be killed and could never return.

Vaughn knew, the thought pelting him suddenly at that moment, even though he had somehow known it all along… that there was no one else he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The question was not whether it was too soon, but if it could ever be soon enough…

"Eric…"

"Well, I guess you _have_ known her for two years. But seriously, you could only have been sleeping with her for like six months at the most, because _damn_, were you sex-deprived before…"

So many thoughts were droning through Vaughn's mind, so many different truths making such an awful racket… Some he himself was just realizing, the few he had yet to tell Sydney, the many she already knew, those he _definitely_ did not want Eric to know…

They were becoming jumbled into an impossible knot, nearly leaving him without a response. He tugged desperately at a loosened thread, wanting to grab and say anything to make Eric stop, to bring an end to this conversation. Unfortunately, wrenching the wrong one loose and…

"Four," Vaughn answered, not knowing why he had felt the need to clarify, why he had opened his mouth, kicking himself as soon as he did. "Four months."

"Four months?! That's…" Weiss tapered off.

Vaughn could almost smell the smoke wafting from his ears, hear the squeaking of the rusty machinery. And he realized a split second before his friend did why that particular piece of information should have been locked away in its own special recess in his mind: _Things really, truly, definitely, without a doubt **not** to let Weiss find out_…

"You mean _that_ was your first time! Seriously?" He perked up like a puppy being offered a treat, drool almost dribbling down his chin. If he had possessed a tail, there was no doubt that it would be wagging.

"Eric, please…" But every moment he bickered or tried to reason with his friend was another moment that Sydney was left alone. He had already let this conversation go much further than it should have, had already left Sydney alone long enough. To keep fighting was futile… "Yes."

"Dude! If I had known, I would have marked it on the calendar… sold tickets or something. You _do_ know what a monumental occasion I've witnessed? You two go at it _all_ the time and to think that I can say that I witnessed _the_ first time…"

"No. You can't."

"No? Not even…"

"No." _Hell no.__ No, period, end of sentence, no. No, not over my dead body. No, end of conversation._ "Now I really have to go find Syd, and..."

"Want me to watch the kid for you so you can, you know…" Weiss winked suggestively, wiggling in an awful little dance.

Had Vaughn not been so worried about Sydney, he would have thought to make a smart comment, perhaps offering to pay his friend to never do that again. As it was, he rolled his eyes, letting that serve as his answer and mumbled a goodbye. He left the room then, Ilya still asleep on his shoulder.

A few minutes searching brought him to the door of the Ladies' Room. He had known the general direction, but it's not like he had ever had to know _exactly_ where it was before, had ever wanted to venture inside. He stood in the hall for a handful of heartbeats, staring at the triangular stick figure on the blue sign before deciding that he didn't care what anyone would think and bursting through the door.

"Syd?"

There was no answer. A woman who had been exiting a stall gave a startled yelp, not caring that she had awakened Ilya and offering them both a dirty look as she quickly washed her hands and exited the room.

"Syd, baby…" he tried again, louder time and not a question. Because just as he knew that she was there, he knew that no one else was.

"Vaughn…" she answered quietly, his name coming out as a sigh before she regained her reason. "You shouldn't be in here."

"Are you okay?" he asked, ignoring what she had said and leaning against the outside of the last stall in the row, the one he would have known she was in even if he hadn't seen her shoes.

"Yeah," she answered, and the way she said it would have convinced anyone but him. "You should wait outside. I'll be out in a few minutes."

He shook his head, knowing that even though she couldn't see it, she sensed his response, would have insisted he listen to her if he hadn't opened his mouth first. "I'm not going anywhere, Syd."

Sydney gave in then, nodding, not wanting to risk opening her mouth as another wave of nausea hit her, threatening to overwhelm all her control. 

Taking her silence as his answer, Vaughn put Ilya down, trusting that he wouldn't go anywhere, knowing that no one would try to take him now. The little boy sat obediently on the floor, face still red and stained with tears, but his eyes calm and trusting.

Vaughn turned his attention back to the stall door, leaning up against it as if his weight could force it open and lead him to the woman inside. In all the time he had known her, two whole years, she had had the occasional cold or cough, but this was the first time he had ever seen her really and truly sick. He wondered if it was just because she had never given in before, if this was the first time she had actually let the illness run its course as it should instead of biting it back.

His voice was a whisper, his words so sweet and gentle that they warmed her, brushed over her like silk, tasted as sweet as spun sugar on a sunny day; lasting only a few seconds, but somehow seeming to make the entire world better…

 "Let me in, Syd…" He was as close as he could get to begging without actually being down on his knees, his words as soft as they could be and still be heard. "I can hold back your hair."

There was no response for a string of seconds, the chain of them lengthening steadily as her silence progressed, pessimism adding to doubt, linking to uncertainty and connecting with helplessness; all the links melting together with a spark of fear.

He couldn't see the tears that welled in her eyes at his words, sparkling in her eyelashes as she tried to keep them from spilling over. Sydney could honestly say without a doubt that no one had ever been as sweet to her as this man always was. Some had come close, but no one had ever been able to match it, no one ever would…

Vaughn waited a moment longer, his fingertips brushing against the lock just as she turned it. The door squeaking as he gently pushed it open, careful as ever not to hit her with it, and edged his way into the cramped stall, closing the door behind him to give them more room.

She stood in the corner, watching him with wide eyes as he approached her. Her face deathly pale, sweat glistening on her forehead. Regret hit him instantly, sorry that he had gotten her sick, that it had to hit her like this; would rather he had been the one to go to work when he had been ill rather than tucked comfortably in bed.

Tucking a few damp strands of hair back behind her ear, he let his fingers slide down, lingering on her neck. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against the clammy skin of her forehead, letting them linger there for a moment until she pushed him away.

But he let go, stepping out of her way, bending over her and rubbing her back, holding her hair as he had said he would. When she finished, he flushed as she stood and smiled weakly, a hint of her usual sparkle finding its way back to her eyes.

"I shouldn't have had that coffee."

He smiled back, not telling her that three tiny sips did not count for anything, that she had hardly had any coffee at all, or, as far as he knew, anything to eat since lunch yesterday. Both of them knew it, leaving no need to give the words breath.

"Are you okay, Syd?" His words were simple, the same as before, his tone barely changed. His eyes added the _Really__… Please tell me the truth this time…_

She nodded, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, fingering the buttons on his shirt as she mumbled into his chest, "I'm fine now."

And when she looked up at him, he could see that she was right, that some of the color had returned to her cheeks. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And he was willing to take all he could get.

"Let's get you home and into bed."

"Can we not go home right yet?" she asked, a trace of sadness lingering in her voice as he maneuvered both of them to open the door. "Maybe go for a walk fir… Vaughn!"

She had walked out in front of him, her eyes catching on Ilya and lighting up immediately, the way he loved. He woke up each morning hoping to see that breathtaking smile on her face, the genuine happiness in her eyes. Today he had succeeded. He could only hope that tomorrow he would too…

"How did you…?"

"Bahn!" the little boy cried, jumping up and running to him as he stepped out of the stall. The child linked his arms around his legs as he had before, but this time without the desperation and anxiety, this time not having to wait even a fraction of a second before getting the response he wanted.

"Like that," Vaughn answered with a laugh, scooping Ilya up into his arms.

Sydney didn't think there had ever been a moment when he looked so sexy, so irresistible, when she wanted so badly to kiss him, but couldn't, shouldn't, because well….

"I don't care, Syd," Vaughn whispered, putting an arm around her and pulling her close.

"Vau…"

But the rest of his name was cut off as he kissed her, lightly, sweetly, his mouth not opening to hers only because now was not the time to start anything that couldn't be finished, because he didn't want to tire her. A kiss not of passion, but one that would linger on her lips for years to come, for always and forever…

"Oh! I'm sorry, I…" Agent Lee appeared in the doorway, face flushing when she spotted the three of them, averting her eyes and holding a hand over them as she turned to leave.

"It's okay, Amy," Sydney assured her, and Vaughn marveled at the way she pulled the younger agent's first name out of thin air, was able to offer it in such a friendly way, to reassure someone she barely knew. "We were just leaving."

Vaughn knew he could have made the moment more comfortable by leaving the women alone, but couldn't bear to let Sydney out of his sight for even a moment. Sydney rinsed out her mouth in the sink and exchanged a few words with the young woman before they left.

Vaughn handed her a mint that he had found in his pocket, they went back to the briefing room to pick up the diaper bag, and walked out of the CIA building much the same way they had walked in. The only difference was that Vaughn somehow managed to juggle both Ilya and the diaper bag on one arm, while holding onto Sydney with the other. When she had tried to help, he had merely kissed her on the side of the head, refusing to either let go of her or give her anything to carry.

The three of them went for a quiet walk in the park, Sydney and Vaughn each holding one of Ilya's hands and letting the little boy's tiny footsteps set a leisurely pace. They talked of everything and nothing: the weather, the Kings, a book she had read… 

Everything that didn't matter and nothing that did.

Sydney asked if they could stop at the pharmacy on the way home, saying almost embarrassedly that there was something she needed to pick up. He leaned over Ilya to kiss her, to tell her that she didn't need to ask. And conversation continued from there.

Neither of them spoke of what had occurred at work that morning, how they had defied authority and protocol once again in order to keep custody of the little boy (_their_ little boy, he was so close to becoming). And neither of them mentioned how long they thought this might last, what all of it would amount to, how the story would end.

~~~

They spent the rest of the day relaxing as much as a couple with a small child can, doing absolutely nothing and ignoring the phone when it rang to at least keep up the pretense of vacation. Sydney tried to vacuum, but Vaughn wouldn't let her for two reasons: she was sick and he wanted her to rest, and he didn't trust himself to stay… composed while watching her maneuver the vacuum throughout the house.

That evening, they watched the Kings' game Vaughn had taped a few days ago. He lay on the couch with Sydney in his arms, her back flush against him, eyes ready to close, but fluttering open when she felt something against her cheek. Ilya's face was just inches from hers, his tiny fingers tapping against her skin. 

"You want to come up?" she asked with a breathy laugh, unconsciously sending a jolt through Vaughn's body even as he concentrated on the game.

Ilya didn't answer, but Sydney pulled him up onto the couch anyway. She held onto him as he stood on the space between her and the edge of the couch, watching Vaughn, who was intent on the hockey game flickering before him. The child gazed at him for a moment before bringing a hand to his side.

"Bahn!"

Vaughn jumped as the little boy touched him, grabbing tightly onto Sydney and feeling her laughter shudder against him. But his startled gaze turned to a gorgeous smile when he heard the mixture of the little boy's voice and Sydney's laughter. She had seemed so preoccupied all day that she had barely smiled, even after they had returned from the CIA; to hear her laugh was like breathing fresh air for the first time in days.

"Hey buddy," Vaughn murmured, reaching up and sitting Ilya on top of him, his little feet thumping gently against Sydney's stomach. "Can you say 'Syd'?" he asked, ignoring the game and looking the little boy in the eye. "Syd."

"Bahn," Ilya answered. It was the one word they had ever heard the child speak, and he seemed intent on keeping it that way.

"Syd," Vaughn tried again, determined to get a correct answer, wanting to hear Sydney's name emerge from the child's lips.

"Bahn."

"Vaughn," Sydney interjected with a small smile, turning her head up so she could see him out of the corner of her eye.

"Syd," he responded teasingly before she had a chance to say anything else. But the laughter was gone from her eyes, a phantom fleeting so quickly that he almost began to wonder if it had been there at all.

"Bahn."

Sydney smiled at the child, turning her eyes to Vaughn's once more, her voice soft. "Vaughn, please. Can I…"

"Sure." He lifted Ilya and helped her stand, seating the little boy next to him on the couch. "You all right?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I…" She looked like she was about to tell him something and he held his breath in waiting. Her glance moved from him to Ilya and back again. "I'll be right back."

He nodded, his breath coming out in a sigh. "I'll go put Ilya to bed."

She murmured her thanks, walking out of the room before him, ducking into their bedroom. He heard the door to their bathroom click shut as he carried Ilya to his room. Sure it still held the computer and their files, but in the past few days, Ilya's bedroom was what it had become; it almost seemed strange referring to the space as the office.

The child obediently let Vaughn change him, even trying to help by taking off his own socks. Vaughn marveled at this feat, offering praise over and over until he thought he saw a hint of a smile light up Ilya's face.

Whatever had been there, however, was quickly washed away with the clamoring of the phone. Busy with Ilya, Vaughn let it ring, and Sydney didn't pick up either. Whoever it was could call back.

"Ready to sleep, buddy?" Vaughn asked, laying Ilya in the crib and taking the little boy's wide eyes as an answer. "Well you're going to have to be good and close your eyes, because I have to take care of Syd. Here…" He handed Ilya the stuffed dinosaur, laughing softly as he snuggled up to it.

"Close your eyes, buddy," Vaughn murmured, running his fingers through the child's hair. But Ilya didn't obey. "Do you want me to sing to you?"

Vaughn didn't wait for a response, softly singing to the little boy, the words almost remembered this time, but still not quite. There would be time enough to learn it the next time, and all the times after that…

When the song finished, Ilya's eyes had already fluttered shut and he was sighing softly in his sleep. Vaughn whispered a goodnight to the child, flicking off the light as he left the room and heading out to the living room, where he could hear the hum of the hockey game. But Sydney wasn't there. Frowning, he turned the game off, silence resounding. He followed its echo through the house, letting it lead him into the bedroom. The bathroom door was still shut.

He approached the door quietly, leaning his forehead against it, listening for any noise within. Not a sound reached his waiting ears.

Strange how the same illness had hit them both so hard but in opposite ways. His own stomach had churned, but it had been the burning fever that had truly taken its toll on him. Sydney's fever had been slight, but…

A whisper forced its way harshly out of his throat, coming out more like a breath of air than his voice. "Syd?"

She didn't answer. Nothing moved in response. A thousand thoughts ran through his head; so many that he didn't even hear the phone ring, probably wouldn't have heard her if she had screamed from behind the door.

But he regained his composure, tapping lightly against the wood of the door with his knuckles, compelling his voice to be louder this time, to form into something that could waft its way through the door and be heard by the ears within. "Syd, baby?"

A soft thud found its way to his ears in response, the flushing of the toilet, the running water of the sink. And then the door was opening, her face millimeters from his own.

"Hi." The syllable was barely a whisper, hardly brushed against his ears. And then two more. "Sorry." She offered him a small smile, and he didn't know what she could be trying to apologize for.

He rested his forehead against hers, fingers lingering on her hips. "You okay?"

She nodded, taking a deep breath. "It's been a long couple of days."

It was his turn to nod this time. "Tired?" He asked it more to make conversation than anything else. He knew her answer.

"Yeah."

Without a word, he reached around her to click off the bathroom light, removing his fingers from her hips to take her hand, pulling her towards the dresser. Letting go, he reached into their pajama drawer, handing her some clothes.

"Don't you want to watch the rest of…?" she began, but he shushed her with a tender kiss, the sugary sweetness of it beginning to dribble away, quickly replaced with a passion so strong that even the two of them together could barely contain it.

Sydney didn't protest as his hands began to creep under her shirt and up her bare skin, taking the fabric with them. She shivered as the cold air hit her, surprised when his gentle hands left her body and were suddenly pulling a tank top over her head and smoothing it over her stomach.

"Vaughn…?"

"Sleep," was his answer.

But for the life of her, she couldn't think of what that word meant without the 'together' following it. She lunged at him, Vaughn luckily removing his shirt quick enough to catch her and keep them both balanced. He held her back, eyes penetrating, a hand running from her shoulder to her elbow and back again.

"Syd, baby, you're exhausted."

He knew it and so did she. But she had heard his sharp intake of breath as his skin collided with hers, knew that it hadn't been caused by the force of it knocking the wind out of him, could almost feel his skin tingling against hers.

"M-m… Vaughn…"

He didn't laugh, knowing she had tried, knowing, too, that some habits were hard to break, that she would get it someday. They had all the somedays in the world for her to try, and he was willing to give her all of them.

Vaughn held her tight against him, almost almost almost giving in. Almost wanting it more than she did, more than anything else. Almost letting that one thought seep so far into his mind that he wouldn't be able to control himself, his actions; wouldn't be able to resist tearing the shirt back off and…

But when she lifted her chin to look at him and he saw the dark circles under her eyes, the slight paleness that hadn't been completely erased from earlier. He remembered how she had been sick that day, how he had been sick before and she had taken such good care of her. He remembered how much he loved her.

"Let's go to sleep, Syd."

His words were like a lullaby, her head falling onto his shoulder as the strength suddenly crawled out from under her, exhaustion quickly slithering in to take its place. She agreed without a word or gesture, standing in his embrace for a moment longer before slipping from it and into bed.

Vaughn smiled as he crept in behind her, realizing that for the past few nights, she had given up the pretense of sleeping on her side of the bed and had gotten in on his. His arm snaked around her automatically, fingers resting against their place on her stomach, his lips finding the bare skin on her shoulder for one last goodnight kiss.

It wasn't until later, hours after each had thought the other had been lost to sleep, neither able to succumb themselves, that Vaughn felt Sydney take a shuddering breath, letting it hiss out slowly. He brought his hand up from her stomach to brush away the tears that had only just begun to trickle onto her cheek.

She took his hand in both of hers, kissing it lightly before threading his fingers through her own, her gesture speaking thanks when the word itself was wedged in her throat. He didn't ask her what was wrong, trusting her to tell him herself when the time was right; didn't realize that he should have asked, that she would have told him if he had…

Almost at the same instant, although neither of them knew it, they both nodded off to sleep. When they awoke the next morning, one just moments after the other, their fingers were still entwined, remaining that way even afterwards, as they spoke softly, their whispers interrupted, hands almost broken apart by the shrill, and by now loathed, ringing of the phone.

"Don't answer it."


	10. Near Perfection

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Thanks, IamVulcanLady, doubly, because I didn't get to thank you for the last one. And yep, I remember Balls of Steel ;)… Everyone should check out Faelai's _A Pale Flame_. It's wonderful… Oh man, lightning bug, that sounds awful ;)… Thanks Liz, CryHope, and AnnaSun! I love your reviews!… Again, valleygirl-2, there are no words. J Thank you so much!

~~~

Chapter 10: Near Perfection

Sydney's voice was a hair below a whisper, her grip tightening on his hand just as he was about to let go.

And that was all he needed to pull his arms tighter around her, showering a few kisses against her skin before resting his head on her shoulder, waiting for her to answer the question he hadn't asked, wondering what had kept her up the night before, had caused the tears.

"Vaughn," she stated, rolling so she could look into his eyes.

He propped himself up with his elbow, his face inches from hers, resisting the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her, unsure how he managed it. His eyes told her that he was ready and waiting, willing to wait all day, forever, for her to continue.

"I was thinking last night," she began, the fingers on one hand playing absently with the small expanse of sheet between them. He didn't know that the way she finished her sentence was not what she had intended. The truth, but not the one she had been burning to share, had meant to tell him first. "About that woman."

"Domaslavov?"

She nodded as the phone rang again. Neither of them moved to answer it or even acknowledged its piercing tone. That damn ringing had ruined enough moments between them; they weren't going to let it steal this one as well.

"Her eyes…" Sydney looked down, finding her fingers on the sheet and stilling them, not returning her gaze to Vaughn's until he tilted her chin upwards.

"Syd, don't…" _Don't relive it, not now, not again. Don't let it burn within you forever. Put the fire, the memory, out. I'll give you a thousand happier ones to replace it…_

"They're Ilya's eyes," she cut in, this time not looking away from him, letting her eyes pierce through his own as they flashed in understanding. "I didn't realize it until last night, when I was thinking everything through, remembered seeing Ilya so terrified when we first brought him into the van…"

Vaughn didn't have an answer for that, any words that would make it better. But he could slide out from under the covers, sit up, and pull her into his arms, her hands flat against his chest, her face buried in his neck.

He could feel her lips move against his neck as she continued to mumble to him, her shoulders shaking as she held back the tears, finally giving in as they slid down his neck, hot and angry, the melted fire of the memory, the hurt, the pain.

"She… she knew she was going to die… Put the documents in Ilya's coat… Hid him in the bushes and… And then she _was_ killed, Vaughn… N-not knowing whether he lived or died… Her own child…"

She told him all she could, all she could whisper out, the pain obvious in her eyes, frothing angrily and boiling over with a sharp hiss. There was no mention of what had sparked the memory, what had brought the little boy's frightened eyes flashing behind her nearly closed lids. But he didn't ask for that, didn't push any further, didn't require anything more than she offered.

"Syd, baby…" He spoke into her hair, wanting desperately to reassure her, to will away the sadness, scare away the demons.

But she sprang from his arms, running to the bathroom; not even bothering to close the door behind her; lucky, because she would have slammed it in his face. He was up almost as soon as she was, following after her and repeating his actions from yesterday, one hand running circles over her back, the other holding her hair.

Sydney sunk onto the bathroom floor when she had finished, rinsing her mouth with the mouthwash he handed her and spitting it into the toilet, for the moment, legs too wobbly to get her to the sink. He thought he heard the phone ring, but there was no way in hell he was going to answer it, no way he would leave her like this.

He tried to think back, to find anything that had upset her as much as this, and to remember how he had handled it. Quickly drawing a blank, couldn't remember one time she had been upset even _nearly_ to the point of sickness, edging him almost over the blurred line into panic; but he held strong, one foot firmly planted on the side of strength and sanity, willing the other to be pulled back.

"Vaughn," she whispered, leaning into him as he knelt beside her. "A little boy doesn't have a mother… And I could have…"

"Sydney."

His use of her full name stopped her, his tone somehow soft and harsh, the two tones juxtaposing into something irresistible, a force to be reckoned with. He waited until he had her full attention, until her tear-filled eyes were peering into his. Perhaps a bad idea, because as emotionally strong as Vaughn liked to think he was, as most men liked to think they were, seeing her like this was almost enough to make _him_ cry.

"God, Syd…" He gently pulled her face to his, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed them, her nose, ending on the corner of her mouth. "No one's harder on themselves than you are."

A spark of hope flashed in her features, a ray of light that he had put there, catapulted from his eyes to hers. Melting her just enough for him to shake her loose from the frozen fingers of pain, anger and sadness; pull her into his arms and his alone, where they both knew she would always be safe, where not even the slightest worry could yank her away.

His lips were on hers then, hard, insistent, melting her even more, always impossibly more. Running his tongue along her lips until she opened to let him in, reveling as she sighed into him, tugging her hopelessly closer. Not pulling away until they were both out of breath, chests heaving, hearts beating crazily, foreheads resting against one another, each breathing in the other's breath, wanting nothing more than to stay that way forever.

"Thank you," she whispered.

A tender hand found its way to her neck, a thumb stroking her cheek, his lips curling into a smile as she leaned into his touch. He answered her with another kiss, softer, gentler than the first.

"Syd…"

But he had broken the spell of her sadness with his kiss, set the beautiful princess free from the fire-breathing memories that had held her captive. She didn't want to talk about it anymore, her eyes finding his, her smile soft but genuine, flickering in her eyes like a candle about to go out.

"What were you singing last night?" A breathy question, almost childlike, the way she asked it, so innocent, so soft and tender.

He let her lure him away from the subject at hand, trying to remember anytime he might have been singing within her earshot; couldn't think of a single instance when she might have heard him sing in all the two years he had known her. It wasn't like there had been ample opportunities for it while they had still followed the rules, still upheld protocol.

"Last night?"

"When you put Ilya to bed."

There was the slightest of pauses before she said the child's name, small enough for him to pass it off as almost nothing, the fact that it was there enough to tell him that not all the pain had been erased.

But he didn't have time to contemplate any further as he suddenly realized what she was talking about. Last night… Ilya… the lullaby…

"Oh." His cheeks flushed, ears reddening as he looked away. "You heard that?"

Sydney nodded, suddenly shy, as if she wished she hadn't asked, deep down still glad that she had. "The baby monitor's pretty loud," she explained, jerking her head in its direction. "I heard it through the door."

Vaughn offered her a shy smile. He had forgotten about the baby monitor, didn't know why it embarrassed him, why he cared. It was only Sydney. If he had to pick one person in the world to share all his secrets with, it would be her. Come to think of it, he already had…

"Just some lullaby my mother used to sing to me."

Here he was, a grown man, a CIA agent, and somehow he still remembered his mother's lullabies. He thought for sure that she would laugh, would make fun of him, knew that any of his former girlfriends would have found it amusing. Almost forgot that this one was different, special, amazing…

"It was beautiful."

But he was the one who laughed, softly, her whispered honesty tickling his ears. "To tell you the truth, I really can't even remember the words. They just kind of came to me. Maybe I can si…" he paused as he became conscious of what he had been about to say, almost let his heart speak instead of his mind… 

_Maybe I can sing it for our kids someday_… 

Talk about getting ahead of himself. They had only been living together for three months and already he was planning a life for them. Of course, it _had_ only been three months, but three months that he wanted to stretch out into forever…

Pushing all thought of it from his mind, he swallowed before continuing, running his fingers lazily through her hair. "Maybe I can sing it for you someday."

But her eyes sparked in understanding, her heart heard the words that his had almost spoken. He had gone too far with his sentence to try to change it, try to take it back, he should have known that, should have said it anyway…

"Vaughn, I…"

The phone rang, stopping her mid-sentence. He was beginning to hate… No, hate wasn't a strong enough word for his feelings towards the telephone at the moment. Even a cruel mixture of detest, despise, abhor and loathe didn't seem to do the trick… Alexander Graham Bell was sure as hell lucky that he was already dead.

"Syd?"

He prayed that she would continue, that he wouldn't have to ask her again, that they wouldn't have to lapse back into…

"We should get that," she answered, her voice still soft but with a forced happiness, eyes averted as she moved to stand. "We need to tell them that…"

"I'll do it," he murmured, kissing her forehead before rising. "You go ahead and shower."                                                    

Sydney watched him leave, sighing as she turned on the water, watching as her reflection disappeared into the fog of the bathroom mirror before stripping down and stepping into the shower, the streams of water so hot they almost burned her, turning her skin red wherever they touched. But she liked it that way; it seemed to wash everything away.

She didn't know he was in the room until the curtain moved aside, startling her for only a moment until she saw his shy smile. He stepped in beside her, pulling the curtain closed and pouring shampoo into his hand.

"I need to shower, too," he said softly, his lips right next to her ear. But just as quickly he removed them, massaging the shampoo through her hair and then his own, pulling her directly under the spray with him to rinse. "God this water's hot."

 "We can turn it down," Sydney reasoned quietly, her voice hardly carrying above the thunder of water on tile. She placed a gentle kiss on his chest, so light that he could barely feel it against his skin, and then pulled away, reaching for the knob.

But that whisper of a touch was enough. Enough to make him forget that he had just put her back together once again, that she had just been sick, that this probably wasn't the time to…

He captured her lips with his own, reaching out with one hand to turn the water off, using the other to open the shower curtain and lead them both blindly out of the tub. Leaving puddles wherever their feet hit the ground, splashes of water even where they did not, as they stumbled haphazardly to the door.

Why he had even left the shower was beyond him. Maybe it was because they had learned from all those times when they hadn't even made it close to the bed and tried to reach it whenever they could, savored the experience. Maybe because it had seemed like an eternity since they had last made love and he wanted to do it right…

Somehow Vaughn found the door handle, must have memorized its position from all the times he and Sydney had stumbled from the bathroom exactly the same way. But this time, instead of continuing their usual sloppy trail to the bed, both of them froze in the doorway, a seeming cacophony of sounds assaulting their ears through the silence.

Screaming and thundering, simple if separated from each other, but mingling together in such a horrific way it sounded as if the world were on fire, as if all life were about to come to an end.

"Ilya," Sydney mumbled into Vaughn's chest.

"The door," he muttered in response, picking out the other noise.

In the time it took Sydney to dry off efficiently, Vaughn had already thrown on jeans and a t-shirt, shouting to whoever was at the door that he was coming, but first stopping to relieve the screaming little boy, heart melting when he saw the bright red cheeks stained with tears.

"Hey… buddy… Shh, it's okay, just the door…"

The door continued to bang, not helping the situation. With all that the little boy had seen and heard, Vaughn could just imagine the pictures that the pounding of the door lured to his little head, had to close his own eyes to will them away. If they were too much for a grown man to bear, then the poor child…

"Coming!" Vaughn yelled, suddenly ten times angrier at whoever felt the need to hammer on the door with such force. He picked Ilya up, smiling as the child wrapped an arm around his neck, and whispered to him reassuringly, soft words that the little boy most likely didn't understand but still worked to soothe him.

The two of them answered the door together, the perfect picture of a father and son on a lazy morning. Vaughn was unshaven and barefoot, his hair still wet, and dressed in the jeans and white undershirt he had pulled off the floor. Ilya had on a t-shirt and diaper, a thumb in his mouth and his little face hidden in Vaughn's neck.

"Hi," Vaughn spat out, a tad impatiently, opening the door to find a man dressed in a dark green uniform, the logo on his shirt and gear clearly marking him as an exterminator. "Can I help you?"

"Your neighbors," the man replied, jerking a thumb at another door, "have rats. You got any problems?"

_This_ was worth scaring the hell out of a little boy and interrupting… Someone up there either must have really had it out for him or was a sucker for sick practical jokes…

"No, we don't…Ernie," Vaughn answered civilly, reading his nametag. "But if we do, you'll be the first person we call."

The man sighed impatiently, seemingly upset that he had had to drag his supplies the few yards between the two doors and was not going to get paid for it. But he merely shrugged, the thought probably shoved backwards by the idea that he would now get to go home earlier.

"Yeah, whatever. They just asked me to check, the Harpers. Nice couple." His eyes narrowed for a moment, one eyebrow raising in question as he leaned against the wall. "Said you didn't have kids though."

Vaughn tried to think of a quick explanation, so used to everyone assuming that Ilya was theirs that he didn't know what else to say. It didn't even occur to him that he could have been watching the child for a friend, a neighbor, a sibling, anyone…

Luckily, Ernie the Exterminator's shrug saved him from any quick thinking. "Nice couple. A little lacking in the brain department, wouldn't ya say?"

With a grin, he brought a dirty finger up to Ilya's chin. Vaughn pulled away instinctively, wanting to shield the child from whatever foreign diseases this man could be and probably was carrying. He _was_ an exterminator after all.

"He looks real enough to me," Ernie chuckled. "I got one about his age crawling around the house, little Ernie junior. What's your name, kid?"

"Ilya," Vaughn answered for him, not realizing until he saw the man's reaction how foreign a name it actually was. "His mother's part Russian," he added, trying to shrug it away as nothing. It was true enough, no matter which 'mother' he was talking about.

Ernie scratched his head, still trying to puzzle the name out. "Interesting."

"Okay, well, thanks Ernie," Vaughn rambled, backing into the apartment and already beginning to shut the door. The conversation was past over, they didn't have any rats, and he hadn't even had the time to get dressed properly. It was time for Ernie to leave. And he did, muttering a goodbye as the door closed behind him.

Vaughn sighed, carrying Ilya back to his room to change him. Sydney came into the room as he was pulling off Ilya's shirt, ready to replace it with a new one. Completely dressed and ready by now, of course gorgeous, as always… but… _completely_ dressed…

"Who was at the door?"

"Exterminator." _Damn all exterminators! Damn Ernie for talking so damn long that Sydney had time to dress completely! Damn…_ "Wanted to know if we have rats."

"Oh… I'll do that," she murmured, reaching to take Ilya's clean clothes from him.

"I've got it, Syd," he responded, pulling away and smiling into her unsure eyes as he ruffled Ilya's hair. "Male bonding time, right Ilya?"

The little boy noticed Vaughn looking at him and moved into his lap, patting a hand against Vaughn's leg as he gazed up at Sydney. "Bahn."

"See?" Vaughn laughed, turning his eyes from the little boy to Sydney. "Go rest, baby." He pulled her down by the wrist to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure," he added, reading her gaze and answering before she could open her mouth to speak.

Sydney smiled her thanks, bending to return the kiss he had given her, hers placed gently on his forehead. She walked from the room; turning and taking one last, lingering glance before leaving the two boys alone.

~~~

Early that afternoon, there was another knock on the door. The telephone had been eerily silent since they had finally picked it up that morning, but the banging door seemed more than ready to make up for that, eager to declare itself the day's new interruption.

Vaughn had been watching TV with Ilya, trying to teach him to say something more, but carried him into the bedroom where Sydney was reading, not wanting a repeat of what had happened at the door earlier, not wanting to have to try to explain the child to another random stranger. Thankfully, gruff Ernie the Exterminator did not greet him this time, but…

"Will, Francie… Hi."

"Hey, Michael."

This setup definitely had the potential to be much worse. It was like a science experiment, everything depending wildly on action and reaction, on what was done and said, what ingredients they decided to add to the mixture. He hoped that he would somehow find a spare second to get to Sydney, to see what she wanted to do, how much she wanted to tell.

"See?" Francie stated, almost not giving Will enough time to finish his greeting by jabbing him with her elbow. "I told you they would be home."

"Yeah, we… have a few days vacation. Syd's not feeling well, though; she's resting in the other room. But come on in."

Vaughn stepped out of their way, holding the door as they walked into the living room. So far, so good. The complete truth, not a lie anywhere to be found, even under the smallest of rocks, in the tiniest shadowy corner. Not yet…

"You know," Francie began, "Will saw the craziest thing yesterday. He was at the park on his lunch break, and he _swore_ that he saw you and Syd with a little kid…"

"Francie wanted to barge over here as soon as I told her but…" Will trailed off, eyes narrowing as they spotted the television. "Hey… you're watching _Blue's Clues_?"

"I… How'd you know the name of it?" _Avoid a direct answer at all costs._ It was a good enough diversion tactic. Besides, he hadn't heard of it until he watched it with Ilya; how the hell _did_ Will know what the show was…

"He watches it on his days off," Francie explained with a smile.

Will's eyes widened and his head snapped in Francie's direction. Evidently something had been shared that wasn't supposed to be… "Hey now, I…"

"I've _seen_ you," Francie stated, not willing to let him get off that easily. "You got all into it, doing the little kid songs and dances. Sing that song they did at the end…"

"Francie…" Will's face was bright red, couldn't have been any redder if he had transformed into a tomato right before their eyes.

"Oh, come on. You were so cute when you did it the other day."

"I thought you were…" he began, turning to Vaughn. "I thought she was in the shower."

Vaughn nodded politely, compassionately. Men had to stick together when it came to things like this. At least when Sydney wasn't in the room; then he was by her side and on her side, always. Not only was it the safest option, but there was really no other place he'd rather be.

"I was, but people get out of the shower sometimes, Will. It happens." Francie gave Will a look; one that made Vaughn shudder, that he had heard horror stories about and luckily had yet to experience, was hoping he never would. "I'm not even asking you to do the dance, just sing the song."

A deadly embarrassing silence followed this demand. Poor Will's face turned an impossibly darker shade of crimson, his eyes averted to the carpet as he stepped away from the group. He was actually going to…

"Vaughn?" Sydney's voice carried down the hallway a split second before she appeared, the exact moment that Vaughn realized how dangerous silence could be. Ilya was in her arms. "Who was at… Hey guys."

"Hiii…?" Francie's single syllable dragged out into a question, ending in silence.

Will, however, was not at a loss for words. He looked from Vaughn to Sydney, before resting his gaze on the child in her arms. "Is this for some kind of spy mission thing? Because, seriously? The kid's perfect. He looks just like the two of you."

"Not exactly," Vaughn stated, walking the few steps that separated him from Sydney, putting his arm around her and giving her a quick, reassuring kiss on the temple.

Sydney sighed, brushing her cheek against the top of Ilya's head in a small caress, reassuring the poor little boy who was once again being scrutinized. "We found him on a mission in Russia. He was in the bushes, and I guess I'm…"

"_We're_," Vaughn interrupted, changing her sentence not so that he could get credit for helping her, but so that she would know that he was there alongside her, always would be, and wanted everyone to know it.

She looked up at him gratefully, smiling softly, that one gesture saying more to him than a thousand words would have. "We're babysitting for the CIA until they can locate his family."

This was followed by a frightening stillness, so deathly quiet that Sydney was brought back into the briefing room, thought that her friends would react the same way as all the senior agents had, that the child would be an awkward block between them, painfully, numbingly out of place...

She felt Vaughn's thumb rub against her shoulder and leaned further into him. Ilya looked up into her eyes, his own a question, and she couldn't help but smile in return, to tell the little boy that everything was okay.

These were her friends, not the critical, demanding agents of the CIA. In reality, the silence lasted only half a second, probably less. Francie was the one to break it. "What's his name?"

"Ilya," Vaughn answered, glad that he wouldn't have to think of any further explanation for it this time.

"Ilya," Francie repeated, bringing a hand to the little boy's head and patting it, smiling when he shyly hid his face in Sydney's shirt. "He really likes you, Syd."

"I know." The words were Vaughn's, adoration there, but just a twinge of envy running through it.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect there, Michael?" Francie teased.

Sydney laughed, loving how all the important people in her life had melded together so perfectly. "Vaughn knows that no man could ever steal him from me," she murmured, answering her friend, but her eyes on Vaughn's, in them, a world of unspoken meaning carried along with the words.

"Seeing the two of you with a baby… It's…"

_Weird? Unbelievable? Nice? Odd? Scary?_ Millions of adjectives could have been placed there, and Sydney desperately longed to hear which one her friend would choose, wondering whether it would make things better or worse…

"Hey Syd," Will interrupted, trying to find his way back into the conversation after wandering over to the television, entranced by the cartoon dog and her friends. "When are you going to start calling him by his first name. It's seriously getting to the point of weirdness…"

This question had become familiar these past three months, naturally replacing _Why don't you quit your job?_ And she had gladly let it. Only this time, Sydney wished it hadn't been asked, wished that she had heard the rest of what Francie had been saying. Vaughn sensed this, kissing the side of her head, and she swore she heard him say _Amazing_, knew his lips hadn't moved, that he hadn't really spoken…

Francie had launched into her usual comeback; namely, if Will's last name had been half as sexy as Michael's then she wouldn't hesitate to call him by it either. And that was that. The four adults spent the afternoon chatting and laughing over children's television programs. Sydney and Vaughn curled up on one end of the couch, Francie and Will seated on the nearby loveseat, and little Ilya in the midst of everything, as if he actually _did_ belong.

Will and Francie stayed through dinner, marveling at how Vaughn and Sydney truly cared for the boy as if he was their own, somehow made it look like he had been with them since the nine months before he was born. When they left, Sydney and Vaughn put Ilya to bed together; she changed him and let Vaughn sing him to sleep, eyes darting back and forth between the little boy's fluttering eyelashes and Vaughn's lips as the sweet French lullaby poured from them.

They returned to the living room afterwards, curling back up on the couch, closer this time than they had before, not having to worry about anyone watching. At Sydney's bidding, Vaughn turned on the hockey game they had been watching yesterday, knowing that she had only asked him to because she knew how much he wanted to finish it, and loving her for it.

As they lay there, Vaughn's arm around her, his hand drawing circles on her skin, Sydney's eyes quivering closed… both of them realized how normal this was, how absolutely perfect. But neither spoke, neither alluded to it, not wanting to crack what seemed a living dream and transform it into something else, something less than perfect.

With her thoughts on the man who was behind her, wrapped not only around her body but her heart, Sydney reveled in what he had said and done earlier that day, how he had appeared not to mind having a child with them, actually seemed to like it. Fighting off the wraithlike doubt flickering through her mind, she let Vaughn's soft touch on her skin soothe her to sleep.

The second he felt Sydney nod off, Vaughn carefully and quietly picked up the remote and muted the sound on the television, not wanting to wake her. The house was silent, except for Sydney's deep breathing and the beating of his own heart as the blood rushed past his ears; there weren't any other sounds he would rather hear.

He knew the peace had to be broken eventually, but the instantaneity of it nearly killed him, the soft knocking on the door nearly shattering his ears. Carefully, Vaughn slipped from behind Sydney, gently laying the afghan over her before tiptoeing to the door and opening it. It was nearly 9:30, who could be…

"Jack."

"Vaughn."

There was a beat. Then two. And three. What in the world was he supposed to say? _Jack, hi. I wasn't aware that hell had frozen over. Otherwise I would have had drinks and hors d'oeuvres all prepared. Just give me a second… _

"Sydney's asleep."

That worked too. And was a lot less dangerous now that he thought of it. Definitely the better alternative.

Jack nodded, regret flashing across his face for just a moment, so quickly that if Vaughn had blinked he would have missed it. "There's some new intel. Devlin was going to call you, but I told him I'd stop by on my way home."

Vaughn stepped aside and ushered him into the kitchen. Jack's gaze swept across the apartment: Sydney's shoes placed next to Vaughn's at the door, a picture of the two of them from Sydney's birthday, the muted hockey game on the television, and finally falling on his daughter's sleeping form on the couch.

"Nice place you have here." The small talk sounded too polite, too forced, too much of an effort. But he _was_ trying.

Vaughn had thought that he would have had to be married to Sydney for at least ten years before he would ever be having anything resembling a conversation with Jack Bristow outside of the workplace; twenty before it would take place in _his_ apartment...

"Thanks. Want something to drink?" Polite, but not too polite. Careful, always careful. Was it wrong of him to be so suspicious of this man?

"No, I'll only be a moment… I wanted to tell you first that I… I admire the way you stood by Sydney yesterday..."

_What?_

"… She needs someone like that in her life."

Vaughn had no words that were fit to respond to this. Not when the man who had just walked in his door, was standing in his kitchen, and leaning against his counter was Jack Bristow. Not when the nicest thing he had ever said within his earshot prior to this moment was addressing the ingenuity of a rogue terrorist cell…

Luckily, Jack saved him from having to speak, turning what might have been an awkward, almost heartfelt moment into purely business, without waiting for so much as a thank you.

"We followed your lead this morning. Hospital records confirm that Katja Domaslavov gave birth to a son on April 7, 2002. She named him Ilya Mikhail Domaslavov. Nothing definite on the father, but Domaslavov was believed to be involved with Akim Kavalek for some time."

Vaughn could see where this was going, where this intel was going to lead. And he was glad that Sydney was asleep, that she could dream for a few more minutes before those dreams were smashed to smithereens. They had known, both of them, that it was going to lead to this, that it had been temporary, that eventually, he would leave, go away, go back home…

But that didn't mean they had to like it, didn't mean they were prepared. At least he knew _he_ wasn't, and if he was right, if Sydney really did feel the way he thought she did…

Jack took a deep breath before he continued, and perhaps there was a tinge of remorse with his words, but Vaughn wouldn't have noticed; he had taken his eyes off the older man's face, given up trying to gauge his emotions and thoughts, and was bracing himself for his words. 

"We have contacted a woman by the name of Devora Domaslavov, Katja's mother. She's flying over now for questioning. We need you to bring the boy in tomorrow afternoon... It's most likely that his grandmother will be taking him home."

Vaughn waited for the _I told you so_, for Jack to ask if the confrontation yesterday morning was really worth the day and a half that it had gained him. But there was something nearing kindness in Jack's eyes, could even be considered compassion.

His voice was soft when he spoke his next words, still somewhat harsh, somewhat cold, but more out of habit than real feeling, the words rusty, foreign issuing from his tongue. "I'm sorry."

If Vaughn had thought about it, he would have recorded those words in his memory as two he thought he would have never heard this man speak, would never hear him say again. But that wasn't what was on his mind as Jack spoke, a sudden sadness filling him like an unexpected and unwelcome gust of wind on an already frigid day.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Thank you, Jack… I'll tell her," he added, following the older man's glance into the living room.

The two men exchanged a few more civil words before returning to the front door and muttering their goodbyes. The kindness seemed strange now, replaced with the somehow comforting coolness of businesslike habit, the farewells nearly as frosty as they would have been between two enemies.

Vaughn stood by the door, forehead leaning against it when his hand simply could not hold his weight. He felt as if somebody had popped his balloon, not hard enough for it to burst with a heart stopping explosion, but so the air fizzled out of it, hissing and squeaking as it became wrinkled and deformed, slowly and steadily floating to the ground. It took longer that way, was more painful, pitiful to watch, even worse to experience. Better to go out with a bang than whither away, better to never say anything to the one you love than to break their heart…

Slowly, he made his way to the couch, kneeling next to it and watching Sydney sleep, waiting for something to tell him how to do this, what to say to make it better for her. But there was nothing there… nothing but the truth.

Brushing his fingers against her cheek, he kissed her softly, letting his lips linger on hers for just a moment before pulling back to watch her eyes flutter open. She stretched and smiled sleepily at him, waking from a dream to find herself in another one, completely oblivious to how their life had suddenly changed.

And he wondered if he really had it in him… if he had the strength to tell her the truth, to break her heart.

"Syd, baby…"


	11. Last Words

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Sorry, guys. I don't have time to respond individually, but I want to thank you all so much for your reviews. I can't tell you how much I love them. But here's the next chapter. I figure you want that more than my author note anyway. We're getting there; there's only one more left…

~~~

Chapter 11: Last Words

"Hi."

She smiled as she said it, her voice so soft and sweet, still filled with sleep, ready to go right back to it as soon as her head hit their pillow in the bedroom. When she first woke up, he felt the most need to protect her, the strongest urge to wrap her more tightly in his arms.

Eyes blinking, voice soft and low, muscles lazy, not yet warmed up. Before her senses were at full alert, before she was ready to take on the world, speak and understand almost any language presented to her… Smile genuine, her entire face lighting up with it, brightening the darkest room even more than whatever daylight might have been flitting through the curtains.

This was the true Sydney, the one who didn't have to worry about disarming bombs, killing three guards in two seconds, or saving the world. This was the one that only he got to see, that she allowed for him alone.

"Hey."

Vaughn had almost come to terms with the fact that he couldn't control everything in her life, couldn't save her from every danger during a mission; never would give in to the fact completely, with all his heart and soul. Almost, but not quite, not really.

This Sydney, however, was his to protect, to soothe away any lingering nightmares, to hold in his arms for as long as he wanted, willing morning to stay away, always afraid to roll over and glance at the clock, never wanting to leave her side.

But this time, he couldn't whisper softly in her ear, the tender French that would sometimes lull her back to her dreams or lure her into his; would sometimes quicken the beating of her heart, the stirring of her breath, the tingling of her skin until…

This time would be different. Whatever language the words were said in, however softly they were spoken, he knew it wouldn't smooth their rough edges, knew they would break her smile, that the shards of it would slice into his skin, penetrating his heart and spilling sadness over the both of them.

Vaughn wondered if he could just wait until tomorrow. Get Jack or Weiss to call early in the morning and tell her then; could just whisper to her that it was time to sleep, that she would hurt her back if she stayed out on the couch, and carry her to bed. Knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did that, that to keep something from her was almost worse than lying, and that he could never lie to her, even if his own life depended on it.

He would be strong, strong enough for them both. He had done it before countless times and there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to here.

Sydney sat up, noticing the regret and sorrow that was in his one spoken syllable, running a hand across his forehead to smooth the wrinkles that sometimes seemed nearly permanent. Vaughn sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her fingers linking with his and coming to rest against his heart.

Like a child, she hid her face in his shirt, lips vibrating against him as she murmured, "It's over… Isn't it?"

And he knew by her tone, by the way her chest shuddered as she said it, the way she sighed deeply in order to suck in the tears, that she wasn't talking about the hockey game.

"Yeah, Syd." His leaned down so he could plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head and closed his eyes, cradling her more tightly against him. "It's over."

If he hadn't been so in tune with her, hadn't felt her hand barely perceptibly tighten against his own, hadn't heard her breath catch in her throat, hadn't felt her heartbeat quicken, he wouldn't have thought she had even heard him. But he sensed, felt, heard all those things; knew everything about her, knew that it would hurt more if he didn't tighten his hold on her than it would if he did.

He murmured her father's news to her, even telling her what Jack had said to him first. She smiled at that, he could feel her lips against his skin; she was glad that her father had finally turned around, but it was not quite enough to bring any happiness or satisfaction to the moment. It was the delicious frosting on a cake that neither of them liked, good enough to be licked off and savored, but not enough to redeem the cake as a whole, not satisfying in and of itself.

The two of them sat for a few moments in silence, each having so much to say to the other but couldn't seem to get the words to fit in their mouths: too large, too small, too oddly shaped; none that would seem right in the moment, none that would fit. The only one that did was that which neither of them cared to speak about, wouldn't be able to even if they could have.

It took awhile, but they found the words to murmur, those that meant nothing and everything to them both. Soon, soft kisses and caresses took the place of reassuring whispers, each finding something besides words to tell the other that it would be okay. Strange how something so simple could mean so much, could throw the whole world, _their_ whole world, completely off balance.

Together they stood, as if they really were one person, connected not in the most intimate of ways, but by something better, something indescribable, something more. Together, they made their way down the hall, stopping right outside Ilya's roo… the office. That's what it was now, had been all along, they tried to tell themselves unconvincingly. A room with a desk, a computer and a few file cabinets that only happened to hold a crib just for now…

"Vaughn… I…"

She was hushed by Vaughn's fingers on her lips, his voice whispering in her ear. "Another day."

He didn't know whether what she had been trying to say was adding to the shadow that had cast itself over them in the past few minutes or would be darkened by its dimness; whether it was good, bad or somewhere in between. But he did know that whatever she was stumbling to say was troubling her, didn't want anything to add to her pain, didn't want her to furthering it by speaking, by saying something she didn't want to.

Sydney nodded, kissing his fingers before he took them away. Another day. Another moment. Not now… They stood outside the door for a few minutes, a few minutes that seemed like multitudes more, that they wished could be, would stretch to so many that it would become forever.

Vaughn broke the silence, putting to words what they both were thinking, just to be sure that he was right. "Do you want to…?"

"Yes," she breathed, glad that he had been the one to ask it, that she didn't have to, knew that she probably wouldn't have, didn't want to bother him with anything else. He had been so good to her thus far, so much so that it seemed too good to be true, that she was afraid to press her luck…

She watched as he walked into the room, finding his way to the crib without turning on the light and picking up Ilya with such careful tenderness that he didn't wake. Vaughn carried the child as if he had every night for twenty-one months, would continue to do so until the little boy was no longer so little, only stopping when he was too big to be carried, when he woke up and mumbled that it was silly, daddy, and please not to do it anymore...

Sydney's arm linked through a space at his elbow; Vaughn's arms not around her for the simple reason that he needed both to hold the sleeping child. She changed first when they reached their room; he watched, averting his eyes at all the right moments, knowing what he could and could not see with the little boy sleeping in his arms.

Sydney took Ilya when she had finished, smiling when he sighed and snuggled up against her in his sleep. Vaughn's arm was around her before she had even looked up, ready for bed. She handed Ilya to him and slipped under the covers, sighing with satisfaction as he put the little boy at her side and lay down next to her, arm draped around them both.

~~~

"Ready, Syd?"

Vaughn's hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, his mouth brushing against her ear. They stood on the steps of the CIA building, right outside the front door, the entrance Sydney always insisted on using now that she could. This was the first time she had ever hesitated outside it, the first time she had stood looking through the glass rather than pushing it aside and marching straight through, head held high, one foot in front of the other.

Ilya had his head on her shoulder, thumb in his mouth, like always. But something was different, somehow. It was as if he knew that this was it: the last day, hour, minute, second... Or maybe it was only that she did. All too well. Knew on top of that, that she should be better than this, that it shouldn't bother her, that she shouldn't let it. But that didn't stop it, didn't stop her…

"Syd?"

"What?… Yeah." Both words shot out quickly, happily. She didn't want to show any weakness, even in front of him, especially in front of him. She was strong, and he should know it; she wanted him to know it.

"It's okay, Syd. To feel…"

_Sad? Angry? Frustrated? Confused? _So many different emotions that she couldn't even keep track. Some pointed at the CIA, at Devlin, the child. Most of them at herself, for becoming attached, for feeling the way she did, for knowing better deep down and not caring, not wanting to. For not talking to Vaughn, telling him once again how much she loved him, that…

"Vaughn…"

A quick turn of the head and his lips were on hers. She could have sworn that she was the one who initiated it, but then again, it could have been him. Either way, it didn't matter. It was love, reassurance, trust, hope, honesty… anything and everything that the one could offer and the other would take, melding two to one in a promise of forever.

They pulled apart, but only by a whisper, only enough to let a breath of air between them, shared by both and relished for its necessity, but not savored as it had been when they were breathing solely each other.

"Thanks, Vaughn."

The kiss had been the _I love you_. She couldn't say the words now, and it wouldn't have mattered even if she had. Simple words could not have spoken the volumes that her heart had shared with his in that simple kiss; there just wasn't enough time in the world, never would be.

"Syd…"

Tiny fingers against his cheek stopped his words, silencing him as a little hand brushed against his skin. Ilya had taken his head off Sydney's shoulder and his thumb out of his mouth, peering up at them both.

"Bahn."

Quietly, the one familiar word broke from the child's lips as he gazed into Vaughn's eyes. His stare was gentle this time, not dominating or commanding; his tone soft, somehow containing a hint of goodbye. But then again, perhaps that was only the way the two adults heard it, how they wanted it to sound. Maybe he would have acted the same way with his own mother and father; maybe goodbye had nothing to do with the child's actions at all.

The little boy looked to Sydney, his hand on her chin now. He paused for a breath of a second, his mouth forming into a perfect "O", and then pressed it ever so quickly against Sydney's cheek, his lips against her skin for so little time it could barely be felt. But that didn't stop the moment from freezing, the tears from springing to Sydney's eyes.

She blinked them away, Vaughn's hand brushing under her eye to keep them from falling. Foolishly, they let themselves think that this was it, this would be their moment of goodbye. They thought that there could be no heartfelt emotion within the CIA walls, forgot that that was where they had first met, where they had…

They forgot that it would take more than the harsh sterility within the CIA building to kill emotion, that it was probably the one thing in the world that didn't follow the rules of logic and reason, wouldn't be so easily squelched. The two of them should have known that better than anyone, but it was just as well that they had forgotten. Had they remembered, neither would have been able to walk inside. 

"Ready," Sydney mouthed, her voice not even strong enough to be considered a whisper.

But Vaughn heard her anyway, let his lips linger against her temple for a moment before opening the door and leading her inside, arm around her waist, diaper bag slung over his shoulder as it had been two days before, knowing that it wouldn't be there when he walked out.

Silence slinking through the hallways, following their path, meeting them with stares and whispers. Those who knew what was happening informed others, a domino effect rippling through the building, the very edges of the trail of gossip receiving a story that was not entirely true, but definitely more entertaining; involving more sex, intrigue, and scandal than any that had ever found its way through the rumor trail before.

Without a word to any of the other agents, not even Weiss when they passed him, Sydney and Vaughn made their way to where they knew Jack had been for hours already, watching the questioning of Devora Domaslavov on one television, the translation of her words lighting up a second screen.

The string of Russian hit Sydney's ears as soon as she entered the room, floating through the air as unintelligible gibberish for a few seconds before transforming itself into words, words to sentences and sentences to complete thoughts. The words intermingled with tears and pauses for deep breaths, the woman on the screen nearly an exact copy of the image that had been flashed on a similar one the other day, only a few time-telling wrinkles and gray hairs showing any difference.

"… I did not want her hanging around with that boy, Akim. He and his friends, they had ideas… ideas that were filling her head and taking her away from me…"

Sydney had walked into the room with a hardened heart, hoping more than anything that the woman would be a fake, not wanting to believe a word she said, anything about her. Not wanting to give Ilya up to someone she didn't know if she could trust, to have to leave the office without the little boy in her arms.

But the woman's tears and soft words were already beginning to melt her resolve, were worming their way through her soul. Sydney could not have been considered human if they had not…

"…When she was seventeen, she… she ran away with them… It was almost three years ago…"

Vaughn's arm slinked tighter around her, his cheek pressing against the top of her head, his body holding her up. The sickening irony of Katja Domaslavov's running from her family to join a group called Family United was not lost on either of them; especially with the way the story had turned out.

Sydney glanced at Ilya, watching as the little boy's head lifted off her shoulder, his eyes locking on the screen before him. She wondered if he recognized the face, if the voice was familiar, perhaps so similar to his mother's that…

"…I heard from her only once in all that time… She sent me a picture six months ago… of her and a baby… a little boy that had… had to be hers… There was no return address… no letter… and only a single word written on the back…"

Brushing the tears out of her eyes, Devora pulled something out of her purse. Its edges were wrinkled and torn with all the hours she had held it in her hands, looking, searching, hoping to make her little girl appear before her. The picture black and white, faded, stained with what could have only been tears. But despite all of that, there was no mistaking the figures in the picture: the woman, her little boy…

"… Ilya…"

There could also be no mistaking the way little boy squirmed in Sydney's arms, how he struggled to get closer to the screen that was now showing a close-up of his mother's face, how he began to whimper, so confused as to what was going on.

"… It was her father's name… He passed away… when she was fourteen…There was a shooting at the factory where…"

And that was all Sydney could take, all that any of them could take. She could feel Vaughn swallow against her, heave a sigh, didn't know that Jack was actually looking away, pretending to focus his attention on a report in front of him. The picture was replaced with the woman's face; Ilya gave up trying to struggle out of Sydney's arms with a heart-wrenching sigh, laying back against her chest and sticking his thumb in his mouth, tears lingering in his eyes.

"Dad…"

The first word any of them had spoken since they had entered the room. It seemed to echo throughout, unwanted, disappearing into the steady stream of Russian coming from the speakers. She had given up trying to understand what it meant, didn't want to anymore. The thoughts came apart into sentence, loosening into words, unraveling into sounds that were suddenly foreign to her ears.

Sydney's other words were lost, but Vaughn finished them for her, knowing by instinct, through his heart, what she wanted, had been trying to say. Knowing what she needed, what all of them needed, knowing, too, that…

"That's enough, Jack." His voice was a demanding whisper, almost matching that dangerous tone he had used a few days before, but soft this time, not as harsh. "Turn it off."

Jack nodded, clicking off the screen and speakers, the room falling into an almost uncomfortable silence without the steady buzz of words, the hum of the lights deafening, nearly unbearable. The woman had been questioned for hours, cleared of every possible threat, acknowledged as who she said she was, as the child's true grandmother. His shoes echoing as they crossed the floor, Jack left the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind him.

Vaughn didn't say a word as she brought a tender hand to the back of Sydney's head, pulling her forehead into his lips, gentle and comforting, just what she needed to stand on her own, to walk towards the door when Jack opened it and said her name, adding Vaughn's this time, without pausing.

The introductions were quick and simple, the questioner offering them politely before hastily leaving the room. "Devora Domanslavov… Agents Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn."

The woman's eyes lit up when she saw the child, sparkling with joy and unshed tears. She stood up, lunging forward, clearly wanting to cross the room and take him into her arms, but stopping. "Is this him? My Katja's little boy?"

"Yes," Sydney answered, unsure how she willed her voice to be strong and steady, how she remembered to use Russian and not English, how she was able to move a few steps closer to the woman. "This is Ilya."

The little boy had hidden his face in Sydney's chest as they entered the room, peering out shyly, hesitantly, suddenly as frightened as he had been the day she had found him. They were close enough to the woman now for him to see that it was not his mother, not exactly, and the almost-but-not-quite face seemed to frighten him even more than a complete stranger's would have.

"Ilya…" Devora whispered, repeating it in awe, "Ilya…"

"We found him in the bushes outside an intelligence compound," Sydney added slowly, knowing the information had to be given, trying to force it past the lump in her throat. "I was there when…"

But she couldn't finish, those words lodging themselves inside her and refusing to come out, nearly choking her. Only when Vaughn slipped his arm around her, neither of them caring where they were, who was watching, was she able to force her voice out in a whisper. "I… I'm sorry."

Sydney didn't need the older woman to tell her all the days she had spent wishing she had her daughter back with her, all the hours she had tried to find her, all the time she had wondered if she should just let her live her life, if she even had been alive. Knowing that she would have never been able to let her go…

"Thank you," Devora answered, filling the silence with a tear-laden whisper. "For giving me back my family. I am forever in your debt."

And then the time came. The moment when Sydney would have to remove the little boy from her own arms and place him in someone else's, the second she had been holding her breath waiting for, hoping it would never arrive. She still couldn't believe how far the child had managed to lodge himself into her heart, her being, in just a few short days.

Sydney placed a gentle kiss against Ilya's forehead, surprised when Vaughn leaned over and did the same, glad that he had because that somehow made it easier. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

They whispered their goodbyes to the child, Sydney's in Russian, Vaughn's in French, the words sweet and tender, flowing naturally from their lips; neither remembering what they had said, but knowing it had been right. And with that, Sydney handed the little boy to his grandmother; she would never have him in her own arms again.

Ilya tensed, finding himself in a new, yet somehow recognizable place, his lower lip quivering, the familiarity of the embrace and the woman's whispering words keeping the sobs from wracking his body, the fear from completely overcoming him.

His dark eyes found their way over to Sydney and Vaughn, questioning, wondering what was happening, why they were giving him up. Sydney didn't see him watching her; her own eyes fixed on the ground, examining her shoes, the carpet, the legs of the table. Vaughn met the child's gaze for the last time, smiling softly, sadly, arm tightening around Sydney as he dropped the diaper bag and turned to lead her out of the room.

"Bahn?" The single word trembling, encompassing a thousand questions, a million fears: _I don't get it. Why are you leaving me? Help. I don't understand_…

Vaughn stopped at the sound of his name, shoulders stiffening, heard Sydney's sharp intake of breath. _Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around…_

And they weren't going to, were going to stay strong; they were agents, spies, they knew they could do it, they had to. They had heard that word before, wouldn't let the thought that they would never hear it again even cross their minds. But then…

"Tyd?"

This word was nearing a wail, the tone sad enough to break the darkest of hearts, would have nearly shattered Sydney's no matter how it was spoken. The whispered French was in her ear this time, but no matter what Vaughn said, it wasn't enough to cover the echoing stutter of the little boy's voice stumbling over her name.

She turned and Vaughn didn't stop her, didn't pull her from the room this time. He knew what she was going to do, what they should have done before turning to leave. He let go of her waist, still following close behind her as she closed the distance between them and Ilya, tried to smile at both him and his grandmother, failing, but not miserably.

"Ilya," she whispered, reaching a hand out and brushing it against the boy's cheek, leaning into Vaughn as he pressed against her back. The boy sighed under her touch, and Sydney quickly retracted her hand before he could reach out for it, her heart aching, so close to splitting into a thousand tiny pieces. "This is your grandmother. She's going to take care of you now."

Ilya's lip quivered, his wide eyes telling her that it would take more than that, that he didn't understand, wasn't convinced. Sydney had willed her voice to be strong, not to break; the Russian had been perfect, rolling easily off her tongue…

Then why had her words seemed to quiver, fluttering with each shuddering beat of her heart? Why had she barely believed herself?

She had brought numerous grown men to tears thousands of times before, but she couldn't stand those few that were dripping down the cheeks of the little boy before her. This was something she couldn't handle. Not by herself.

But Vaughn was there, always was and always would be. He brought a hand forward, touching the tip of Ilya's nose as he had done that first night, the gesture melting her even now.

"Hey buddy," he murmured, and the little boy watched him expectantly, wanting him to make it better, trusting that he would. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going home."

Home… With his family. His real family… Home… 

Sydney was lured into believing with his words; they were spun so perfectly from his lips that it would be impossible not to. He had even smiled as he said them, lending his strength to every person in that room. His hand on Sydney's shoulder, holding her up; his voice soothing the little boy, who probably didn't even understand his words, and calming his grandmother.

Devora murmured her thanks, and Vaughn didn't need to know her language to understand her. She kissed the child in her arms with such tenderness that although the uneasiness was still there, Ilya began to forget to be afraid, to think that perhaps her familiarity could be comforting, that she wasn't such a stranger after all.

Sydney felt a gentle kiss on her neck, a whisper of warmth right at the top of her suit jacket. A glance over her shoulder rewarded her with another on the corner of her mouth, Vaughn's eyes piercing hers, telling her it was time to go. Reaching a hand behind her, instinct found his fingers and laced them with her own.

They whispered their goodbyes yet again, blending them with reassurance this time, each kissing one of the little boy's chubby cheeks for the last time. Vaughn's grip on her hand tightened as they turned and walked across the room, holding their breath, neither daring to look back.

Closing the door behind them, pausing after they had made their way halfway down the hall, Vaughn turned to face her. "Syd… You okay?"

Asked just to check, just to make sure, to ease the doubt in his mind, to let go. Ensuring that her pale face and unusual silence was not due to illness, that she was at least physically feeling better than she had the days before. Because he knew that she was anything but okay at that moment, that the moment had somehow been harder on her than on him, that she was at risk of shattering at his feet.

"Vaughn… thank you."

She meant for everything, and he knew it. She was trying to tell him that he hadn't had to help her, hadn't had to let the child stay in what was technically his house; that no one else had or would ever do such a thing for her, that he was the only one who…

"Syd…"

He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to thank him, that since it had been her responsibility, it had been his too, that he promised to do anything and everything with her, together, for the rest of their lives.

And suddenly he didn't care that they were in the middle of the CIA building, that this was not the place for anything that had to do with their relationship although it had ironically brought them together. Vaughn's lips parted, and the words that would issue forth would have meant so much to the both of them, would have been something to ease the pain and turn tears of regret to joy, would have guaranteed that dreams could come true and she would be his for…

"Hey guys…" The two words were said almost with regret, as if for once, Weiss was actually sorry that he had spoken, knew what he was interrupting, didn't want to be the one that had to bring the bad news. "Debrief time."

Vaughn nodded, swallowing with difficulty, the words still caught in his throat, wanting to break free. But his mind had quieted his heart, told it that this was definitely not the right time or place, no matter how the blood was coursing through its veins, despite the emotions that were pulling at its strings.

With a sigh, he leaned against her, his forehead brushing hers, and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His mind, his eyes, his heart, even that simple gesture screamed _I love you_, shrieking it so loudly that he was sure the entire building had heard him, that the words were echoing down the halls.

But words that are not spoken cannot be heard. At least not by those whose hearts they are not meant for. The woman before him caught every word, shouting them back to him just as loudly, mirroring the curious and oddly intoxicating mixture of love and sadness that stirred within his eyes.

"Guys, seriously."

Weiss was still standing there, and Vaughn was almost angry, the sudden urge to shout at his friend almost too strong to suppress. But he quickly swallowed his irritation; without this reminder, they would surely have remained out in the hall, would not have gone to the debrief at all, and…

"Asses _will_ be kicked. Or at least chewed out." Weiss raised his hands in mock surrender to ward off the two pairs of eyes shooting fire in his direction. "Don't kill the messenger… Let's go."

They went, of course, following the instructions they had been given, glad that all of this would soon over. But neither could honestly tell much of what happened during the debrief, words spoken and flying around, touching eardrums just enough to be heard, but not etching themselves into memories. For once they were going to have to count on Weiss to tell them what had happened, instead of the other way around.

Both Sydney and Vaughn were acutely aware of the setting sun, the darkness that eventually began to overtake the world outside the briefing room. It was the longest debrief either of them had ever gone to, would have been even if it hadn't lasted as long as it did, had only been three minutes instead of stretching for hours.

But they made it through, paying enough attention to answer those questions they were asked, to offer information that they knew only the two of them had. Neither cared that they were finishing each other's thoughts and sentences right in front of the higher-ups, a string of junior agents, and even Eric Weiss. If they hadn't borrowed from each other's strength, neither of them would have been able to finish a coherent thought, neither would have been able to survive.

A few ideas actually passed the defensive barrier that had somehow set itself up over Vaughn's brain, pushing past his ears and penetrating into understanding. Only a few from the thousands and millions that must have been said, all of the thoughts, pieces of information and hypotheses:

Family United had twenty-seven members between the ages of seventeen and thirty-six. Whatever the group had been, thought they were, had aspired to be; whether they were a joke, a moving force, or a band in name only… it didn't matter anymore.

They had made a difference this one time, maybe the only time they ever had or would, and it had cost them. All twenty-seven members and the nineteen family members that had stayed with them, most of them young children, had been at the compound that day. All twenty-seven adults and eighteen of the children were dead…

Ilya Mikhail Domaslavov was the only survivor.

He was sure there was more to the story, but that was all Vaughn remembered, all he could have recited back to anyone who asked. He didn't know what the name of the terrorist group they had pinned this activity on was, or if they had even narrowed it down to one. Maybe Sydney would know, but he doubted it. For some reason, he felt that they were both on the same page on this one, that if he had asked her, she would have recited the information back to him exactly as he already knew it, words and pauses perfectly placed, nothing more and nothing less.

When everything was finally finished, Devlin left and the others began filing slowly out of the room. Weiss was one of the first to leave, afraid that Vaughn was still angry that he had interrupted them earlier and not wanting to stick around to find out.

As Vaughn was helping Sydney out of her chair, Jack approached, as stoic as ever. "Tomorrow, we'll begin work on…"

"We're not coming in tomorrow," Vaughn interrupted, his eyes never leaving Sydney. He didn't care what Jack thought. As far as he was concerned, they had reached a certain level of understanding. If that's not how Jack saw it, so be it, but… "Tell Devlin we'll be back on Monday."

Sydney gazed up at him, questioningly at first, thankfully a moment later. Vaughn knew they both needed a real vacation after all of this, just a few days off to get themselves back together. He could see the edges Sydney's jigsaw puzzle crumbling before him, knew that these words helped to pick up some of the pieces; he shoved them into his pocket, saving them for later when he could truly put her back together again. But not here, not now…

If Jack was taken aback by this statement, he didn't show it. Something nearing understanding flickered across his features, and he merely nodded before turning and leaving the room. "See you both Monday."

This time, as Sydney and Vaughn made their way out of the building, the little boy was not with them. They still received the blatant stares, heard those around them murmuring, keen ears picking up the vibrations of their own names. They didn't look; didn't notice that this time no one was smiling; didn't want to see in others' eyes how strange it was for the two of them to be walking out alone, without the little boy clinging to Sydney's neck.

At least that way, without the added barrier, Vaughn could hold her more tightly as they left, so close that for anyone else, it would have been nearly impossible to walk; for them it was as if they belonged that way, would have been unnatural to see them any further apart.


	12. Truth Born of Darkness

Wrestling Emotions 

~~~

Sorry for the sadness, neptunestar, AnnaSun, liz, IamVulcanLady, and Caz. Hopefully this chapter will end up a little happier for you. Thanks for reviewing! … I'm not intentionally trying to kill you, valley-girl2! Honest. Here's a long chapter to make up for it. And there's _a chance _that there might eventually be a sequel. As always, thanks for your amazingly long and always wonderful responses… Wow, equisetum, I cannot believe you sat and read through the whole thing. It always amazes me whenever someone says that. Thanks for taking the time to review… Haha! Thanks lightning bug! It _was_ fun…

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed throughout the story. You guys are the best!

~~~

Chapter 12: Truth Born of Darkness

Not a word was spoken during the entire ride home. Stoplights greeted with silence, whether red or green; turns taken as they were and nothing more; the radio left on, blaring the nightly news only because neither of them thought to turn it off or change the station. It was fitting though; filled the silence, spoke of the sadness, made them realize that what had happened to them wasn't half as bad as all the crap going on in the world around them.

The key turning in the lock, the door squeaking open, almost too loud for their ears, a whisper in the silence becoming as charged and powerful as thunder. He ushered her inside, following in her footsteps as they scuffled across the floor.

Vaughn had shed his suit jacket long ago; it was probably still crumpled up in the backseat of the car and would remain there until Sydney found it and brought it in. His loosened tie now came over his head, thrown aside and landing in some forgotten corner; the top buttons of his shirt quickly coming undone and sleeves rolled up, as his shoes were kicked off and stockinged feet pattered their way into the kitchen.

Sydney disappeared into their bedroom, wanting more than anything to get out of her work clothes, jacket and shirt coming off halfway down the hall, something Vaughn would have usually enjoyed watching. When she appeared in the kitchen a few moments later, clad in her usual tank top and sweat pants, even those simple pieces of fabric clinging to her so perfectly, Vaughn couldn't help but let his eyes linger on her form, his mind reeling with the realization that they were finally alone.

But somehow that thought wasn't as comforting as he would have liked it to be.

He offered her his glass of wine, not pouring one for her simply because he knew that if she wanted any, the second glass would have been superfluous; they always shared. But she shook her head, pushing it gently away. Vaughn moved to pour another one, thinking that her refusal was due to her still not quite feeling well and not wanting to get him sick, but she went to the freezer instead, digging a forgotten pint of ice cream out from the back and grabbing a spoon.

"Want some?" she asked quietly, the words echoing strangely through the room; the first either of them had spoken since leaving the CIA building.

She brought the spoon up to his mouth. Vaughn held her wrist steady as he licked the ice cream she offered him, savoring its sweet flavor, but relishing even more the woman who was holding the spoon, her beautiful face, her deep eyes… 

"It's good," he murmured as she pulled away the spoon. It was all he could think to say, knew that he had to continue conversation, bring an end to the silence.

"Mmm," she agreed, taking a spoonful and nodding, smiling, even, as she swallowed the sweet dessert. "My favorite."

He already knew that. Had known even before she had moved in with him, catching her side comment during one of their briefings in the frozen food section of a nearby grocery store. He had bought a pint that day, replacing it every time he had finished it, loving it as he knew she did, smiling shyly at her look of surprise when they had finally gotten together, when she had moved in with him and found it in his freezer…

But that was beside the point right now…

"Syd…"

She knew what he was going to say, and cut him off before he had a chance to finish. "So we're off until Monday, huh?"

It should have been a simple question, but he could sense the _Let's not talk about it now_ that floated in its shadow, naively decided to concede to her unspoken request and nod.

He draped an arm around her, leading her down the hall and into the bedroom, stopping as she offered him another spoonful. Smiling and tweaking her nose when she pulled the spoon away, sighing with relief as she smiled back.

"It'll be nice."

"Yes," she agreed, the word hissing out as she sat down on the bed and took another bite of the ice cream. She closed her eyes and sighed, a hint of a smile curving the corners of her lips. "If heaven had a taste, this would be it."

"Yeah?" Vaughn asked, grinning as he knelt on the bed next to her, intent on making the moment less awkward, more peaceful, as it had been before; just the two of them, together, alone, barely able to keep their hands off each other until...

Sydney tilted her head up to face him, her affirmative reply lost as his lips captured hers, the mixture of chocolate and passion overwhelming, electrifying; the melting ice cream nearly spilling from her hand as she lost her way in him once again, wishing she could never find her way out.

"No…" she breathed as she pulled away, her free hand running through his hair, across his neck and coming to rest on his cheek. "_That_ would be it."

He kissed her once more, softly this time, before leaning back and pulling her further into his arms. He could feel her breath against him, her heart beating in her chest. Everything had been so perfect before now. Just the two of them living together… it was all they had needed, more than they had ever dared to hope for. They had never had to talk before, not like this, not about anything personal and important. 

With a whisper, he tried again, "Syd…"

She stiffened in his arms, that and her silence causing him to tense up as well, making him realize what they were doing. She had rolled the dice and they were playing the game. The game they had played months ago, where everything was _okaybutnotreally_, that had lapsed for weeks on end without the finish ever coming into sight. The game he thought they had left behind, had decided never to pick up again, had never wanted to even think about…

But he could see that they must've been playing for hours now, days; each second ticking _toolong toolong toolong_. Every time she hadn't told him what was wrong, every time he had let her partial answers satiate him. Force of habit had made them pick up the pieces again, dusting off the game board and tattered rulebook, and taking up right where they had left off…

The rules came flashing across his mind simultaneously with the thought of the game itself, with the realization, the remembrance; each of them finding their proper slot in his memory bank, trying to numb his heart and brain.

They had both been stellar players, memorizing all the rules right from the beginning, rules that had been dictated and shaped by the hazy boundary between danger and safety, molded from protocol itself. They should have been able to make it through the board without a mistake, knew the rules as if they had been playing together all their lives.

Would have and could have. If they hadn't given up, given in…

The basis of play had lain in truth, but it hadn't been true; not honest, not real. Instead, it had been about the manipulation and hiding of truth, of keeping it locked safely and possessively away as if both their lives had depended on it, knowing that in reality, they had.

Words, phrases, sentences were jumbled, meanings skewed so they could fit the stringent guidelines, the real ones kept secret, never shared. Thoughts were never spoken, never given breath, because they would have held the truth. True thoughts were not allowed, must never pass from mind to lips, never even make their existence known.

But most important of all, repeated at the end, the beginning, and thousands of times in between just for good measure; the one rule to remember if either of them had forgotten all the others, to scratch into their brains hundreds of times a day with rusted nails and twisted fragments of red-hot metal:

**_There is no emotion_**_… Hide it, eat it, swallow it, poison it, step on it, smother it, beat it, shoot it, hang it from the rafters… Do anything and everything but show it. **Never** admit it exists._

They had both known that rule. Memorized it before all the others, repeated it before, during and after every meeting, had never let it leave the forefront of their minds…

He would accidentally touch her arm, had been handing her some files and managed to brush up against her even though it had been the last thing he had wanted to do, even though he had been trying harder than anything not to make contact, not to touch her.

She would pretend that the gasp that had escaped her lips was due to the pain of a recent mission. Would roll up her sleeve to show him the bruise, big and purple and blue and ugly; out of place, marring the smooth creaminess of the rest of her arm.

He would swallow, tricking himself into thinking that the sight of her skin didn't, never could, would affect him, apologize, and ask, in a voice so low and full of concern that it _almost-but-not-quite_ broke all the rules, if she was all right.

They would both imagine that question had pertained solely to the wound. Physical, job-affecting pain only, never anything else. Strictly business. She would nod and thank him, a contradiction since they both knew the real answer, despite the rules and barriers, both knew what she had been screaming inside.

_No. Help. I hurt. I need you._

Both had silently pretended not to. The words had never really been spoken. It had been easy as pie.

Pretending was something that each had thought they had left behind as children, growing out of it just as they grew out of their old clothes, packed away with toys that they would never again play with, dreams that they had once hoped to aspire to and now knew they never would.

But imagination, fantasy, the world of make believe had been part of the game, not stated as such in the rules, but still there. Put on each morning along with their suits, carried with them in their minds instead of briefcases, loathed as it had never been when they were younger, more innocent, untouched by the world.

There had been no castles or talking animals in this world of pretend; no happy endings when the prince was forever denied his princess.

It had been easier to tell himself that he was pretending even though he knew that was not exactly what it had been. It had been easier to forgive himself for pretending than for lying, or at least he had thought it would have been, but…

Eventually, he had found a way to bend the rules, so slightly, so subconsciously that he did not even realize it had been done. It had just seemed to fit, to become part of the game…

Cloaked _Amazing_ in a sentence that pertained to her work, the mission. Not her alone as he wished he could have said it, but still carrying that meaning, still understood by both of them.

It hadn't truly been breaking the rules… 

Shrouded a hidden meaning under the three syllables in _Be Careful_, the two words fitting nicely over _I Can't Lose You. Not Now. Not Ever_, would have hidden them completely if he hadn't accidentally left a corner uncovered, if he had noticed it in time to smooth it down, hadn't let the unspoken words fill his eyes.

He had followed the rules. The emotion had been hidden. Honest… 

Swathed his heart in a simple statement: _Good Luck in London… Athens… Shanghai… Córdoba… Dar es Salaam…_ It hadn't been his fault that if the words were said in just the right tone, with just the right amount of breath, that they could take on a much deeper meaning, that they carried so much more for both of them.

He hadn't broken the rules, simply adjusted them, tweaked them just enough to straddle the gap between what he wanted to say and what he could, what was allowed and what was not, reason and passion, truth and lies…

And he had thought he had perfected it, thought he had gotten it just right.

Until he had awoken with a start early one morning, breathing labored, catching in his throat, sweat clinging to every inch of his skin. Awakened from a dream, eyes wide, completely conscious. He had seen the heavy darkness outside the window, felt his heart pounding against his ribcage, read the brightly lit numbers on the clock.

He had really and truly been awake.

But… why had he still been falling?

Falling, plunging, descending, plummeting… Further and further and further down with each passing second; as the numbers on the clock had clicked forward; 2:45, 2:46, 2:47… Falling ever faster the more he had tried to snap himself awake, the further his eyes had opened.

And he had known in a moment what this unfamiliar abyss had been, why as much as he had scrambled against the walls he had only slipped down further, why there had been no way out, why he had already fallen so far down…

He was falling in love, had been for awhile, was even now, at this exact moment, somehow slipping a little further with every second of each passing day, just when he thought that he could see the bottom, that there was nowhere else, no further he could go.

But he had persuaded himself that he could remain professional, that he could hold up protocol by reviewing the rules of the game, ticking each one off on his fingers over and over, until the sun had peeked into his windows and the alarm clock had blared its good morning.

Not realizing until he had gone to work later that day, that he had twisted the rules into something barely recognizable, had bent them so far out of shape that everyone had noticed, that it had gotten both him and somehow Weiss in trouble, had almost brought an end to his career.

And he had scrambled to put the rulebook back together the way it had been when he had first received it. But the pages hadn't been numbered; he couldn't get them back in the right order. Yes passing to no, right mixing with wrong, _ifs_ and _ands_ and _whats_ and _ises _pointing in all the wrong directions, leading to places where they hadn't before, coming from beginnings that didn't make sense, charging to ends that used to be middles, and…

Suddenly everything had been profoundly screwed up, thoughts and words and feelings splattered all over where they shouldn't have been, where nothing should have been if he had followed the rules, if he hadn't let himself _feel_.

But he had. Even though it had been against the rules.

And then he had found himself in the warehouse with Sydney.

She had been crying.

They had been alone.

And for the life of him, he hadn't been able to remember the rules. They had slowly slipped away, forgotten words on a page that never should have existed anyway. Sliding out of existence as his shoes scraped across the concrete floor, a hand on the shoulder became a hug, and…

That had been the end of it, the end of him. He hadn't cared that he had lost the game, even if that had meant pulling her out with him. Emotion had sprung forth, surging straight from his heart in droves, all that had been bottled up for the past months, for as long as he could remember.

One last, lingering part of his mind had screamed with horror, shrieking that it wasn't allowed, couldn't happen, that there was no emotion, couldn't be. A howl had echoed through the vacant walls of the self-storage facility.

He had broken the rules.

And he hadn't cared.

The shouting had been useless, reason beaten to the ground by emotions, the sheer flooding force of all of them intermingled… anger pounding on sadness, flooding guilt, looming over satisfaction, smothering fear, burning into love…

All of them too much for anything to hold up against.

With reason gone, lying in a bruised and bloody heap on the cold concrete floor, the conflicting emotions had begun to wrestle amongst each other, as Michael Vaughn's lips had finally claimed Sydney Bristow's once and for all…

These thoughts flickering through his head in an instant, the remembrance of it nearly painful until he got to the end. And despite everything that had happened and even those things that hadn't, he almost found himself playing the game again, picking up the dice and taking his turn. Almost parted his lips and let _Do You Want to Go Away Somewhere for the Weekend?_ hide the truth, take the place of…

"You miss him already, don't you Syd?"

The question probably could have stood rhetorically, since they both knew the answer, didn't need to be spoken at all. But it served to open them up to what neither wanted to discuss, both knew deep down that they had to. That sometimes unspoken thoughts could be precarious, could be laced with doubt, fear and other poisons of the mind. For them, for now, the truth was in thoughts that were put into words, actions, emotions.

Sydney's eyes found his; for a moment, he thought he saw pain flickering there, thought that maybe she had been expecting him to play the game, that he should have, just this once, just to ease the pain, make it better. Just for a little while. Just this once…

But if _just this once_ had multiplied, changing its wording to became two and three and four and five… _Justthisonce and always once more_, serving to excuse them from ever discussing anything important, kept them playing the game forever…

He knew he wouldn't be able to stand it, didn't want to have to try, didn't want this to break away into another game. One even worse than the first because protocol wasn't the barrier this time, wasn't what would have kept them apart.

Fear would have taken its place, and doubt, and anything else the little monsters of reason could find and dig up, use as evidence to convince him that whatever his heart told him was not true, that she didn't really… wouldn't want to… didn't lo…

"Yeah."

The one word sighing out of her, hissing with relief. The mixture of sounds telling Vaughn that she hadn't wanted to play the game, had realized just as he did what they had been doing; and that it had scared her too, more than anything. That it made her wish she were stronger, better somehow, that she had the strength of a spy all the time, was never vulnerable.

She had her own little demons lurking within her that warped reason to deny whatever her heart told her, that filled her with fear too, were still bitter that they had lost the battle to emotion all those days and weeks and months ago…

Sydney put the ice cream container down on the nightstand, clicking off the lamp before pulling back into his arms. This might have seemed a strange action to anyone else, but Vaughn understood it.

The warm light from the hallway fell through the door and pooling over them, just enough so that he could still see the thoughts and feelings playing in her eyes, not too much to scare away the truth. Its cozy glow wrapped around them, enveloping the two of them together in its lacy fingers, sighing in the black of night.

"Don't worry about him, Syd," Vaughn murmured into her hair, allaying her unspoken fears. "He'll be fine."

"I know." Softly, a whisper barely strong enough to be heard. But it had been. And it was the truth. Those two murmured words were further than they had gotten to the truth in awhile, led them closer to the light through the darkness.

"He's with his grandmother now. His family."

Vaughn didn't add the _real_ that echoed through his head, knew that it was reverberating in her own ears as well as if it had really been spoken. He didn't want to make this any more painful than it had to be, wished it were already over, that they had never had to have it in the first place.

"I know," she repeated, this time somehow stronger than the first although her voice wasn't any louder. "It's better for him."

He nodded in agreement, glad that she had made that point, actually voiced it. Glad for her sake and for his own that she actually believed what she had said. He could tell by the way she said it; with the two of them together, veiled in darkness, it couldn't be anything but the truth.

"And now I'll have you all to myself." Kissing the side of her head as he said it, hoping that his tone would relieve the tension, would make her feel better. Knowing that even though they were spoken in jest, the words themselves weren't a joke, that he was looking forward to this mini vacation, just the two of them…

He could just make out her faint, almost sad smile, knew that he would do whatever it took to erase the sadness from it, to see the laughter gleaming from deep within her eyes, the windows to her heart and soul.

"Vaughn?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had trickled its way between them. "Do you miss him?"

"Yes."

The way he said it, the quickness of it, the way his eyes flashed and his forehead wrinkled, they both knew it was the truth. But they both knew that it was not the night for thoughts alone. And simply knowing couldn't have stopped her next question.

"Really?"

He nodded, kissing the top of her head gently. "I guess I… kind of got used to having the little guy around." An understatement, but still the truth. He knew that he should add to it, especially tonight, especially for her. Tell her that… "I never thought I'd get used to it, you know? But…" There had been something about having those little arms around his neck, tiny fingers grabbing his own, the pitter patter of his feet, and… "The way he said my name…"

"Bahn," she whispered, her soft voice caught in the precarious space between tears and laughter, unsure which path to take, maintaining the shaky balance with her next sentence, as her fingers found their way to his of their own accord. "I should call you that."

A hint of laughter rumbled in his chest at the thought of it, warming the both of him. "Bahn," he repeated, letting the murmur echo through the darkness before adding, "Bahn and Tyd."

He didn't need to see her smile to know that it was there, or had been, at least, flickering across her features before being swallowed by the shadows. She tightened her grip on his fingers so lightly that he barely felt it, seemed to sense it instead as his hand squeezed hers in return.

"Vaughn… Thank you." A shuddering breath separated his name from the rest of the sentence, her tone much more soft and serious than it had been before, a sigh escaping with the words.

Two months, two weeks, two days, two minutes ago those words would have stood for everything, would have been left alone. But not tonight. Not now. Not in the dark. Not when they had been so used to knowing each other's thoughts that they had almost forgotten to speak, had almost been drawn into silence.

She could never lie to him, nor him to her. Not after what they had been through. Not when the truth meant so much, almost more than anything else, everything else all jumbled together.

"For what, Syd?"

He didn't understand why she kept thanking him, had to be sure, had to have a definite answer. Maybe that would be the key to what was bothering her, what had been bothering her even before they had had to give up Ilya. He knew they weren't playing the game anymore, never wanted to play again.

"Everything."

The simplest, most honest answer that she could give. And the fact that it matched his thoughts soothed away some of the doubt, as she snuggled closer to him, sighing.

"You don't need to thank me."

Sydney pulled away, looking into his eyes, could see them glimmering even in the darkness, the love and compassion that refused to be quenched even when they argued. And that elicited her next response, made her gratitude seem all the more necessary.

"Yes I do."

She tried to look away this time, to avert her eyes, to let them find temporary shelter just outside the dark window, on the bedspread, across the wall. But a gentle hand was under her chin, pointing her face in his direction, his fingers not leaving her skin even when she complied and gazed into his eyes.

"Why?"

He wasn't going to try to read her thoughts now, wanted to hear her words, to be sure, sure of everything. There were times when thoughts flew between the two of them better than words could, but this was not one of them.

"Because…" She paused, seeming to understand the importance of words at this moment and searching for just the right ones, unable to find anything poetic, eloquent, right and finally just whispering softly. "Not everyone would do the things that you do for me."

A pause, racing with thoughts that couldn't truly be heard, pregnant with silence, broken only by their soft breaths, the swishing of cloth as Sydney's foot moved against the blankets, the slamming of an apartment door from down the hall.

A pause that lasted only a millisecond, if that, even though it seemed to reverberate forever. Because his answer was almost immediate, the only response he could or would ever want to make, the first thing that sprung from his heart, nearly tripping up all the rational thoughts stewing through his mind in its mad dash to free itself from his lips.

"Sydney, I love you."

And somehow that one sentence served both as a declaration and explanation, his tone matching them both perfectly, linking them in a way that no one else would have been able to, but seemed right coming from him. Perfect.

She would have told him that she loved him too, would have shouted it from the rooftops. But her lips were drawn up to his, powerless to resist their force, and she wouldn't have wanted to even if she could. It was all right, though. In this instance, thought combining with action worked perfectly to tell him how she felt; for this, words weren't necessary.

"Syd," he murmured, keeping his hands on her cheeks even as they pulled apart. "I would do anything for you…"

Suddenly he realized the direction his heart was pulling him in, where his words would lead next, almost subconsciously, almost without his knowledge. But he wouldn't have wanted it any other way, was glad that he would be within his own power when he said it this time, fully aware of what he was doing, waiting, wanting to do this more than anything in the world.

"… I want to do _everything_ for you…"

Sydney's heart skipped a beat at his words. She could barely breathe, was almost dying for him to finish, for him to give her a chance to truly answer, hoping more than anything that this was for real, that he wouldn't fall back asleep this time. He had done so much for her, and now…

Squealing to a halt. Every other thought, word, action catching on that one as it skidded across her mind. Everything colliding in an insane jumble of letters and sounds and pieces, hissing and steaming. Nothing making sense anymore, too mangled to be coherent. Except that one thought that had escaped unscathed…

Because that was just it. He _had_ done so much for her already. So many things that she hadn't even asked him to, hadn't wanted to worry him with, and…

She would have said yes.

God, she would have said yes without a second thought and never would have regretted it for as long as she lived, never should have had to regret it... But she would have somehow felt guilty, as if she had roped him into yet something else, another unwanted mission, another trip around the game board. 

"Vaughn…"

He stopped immediately, the words ramming into each other just as Sydney's thoughts had moments before, catching in his throat as something barely recognizable: a cough, a stutter, a sneeze…

_myouawillrsydrmey…_

Barely recognizable now, tangled words and fragments and letters; but it had been there. Just as it had been dancing on the tip of his tongue earlier at the Ops Center. Just as it had escaped from the confines of his mind in the height of delirium.

The truth had been there too, living in fever and insanity just as it did in darkness. He _did_ have the ring all picked out. Hadn't bought it yet, the lurking shadows of fear and doubt and _whatif _and _itstoosoon_ wouldn't allow for that. But he knew which one he wanted, which one was perfectly her; had had it picked out since the day he had kissed her, and had resolved to buy it each and every day since she had moved in with him, but…

Noticing how the fear had once again seeped into every single one of her features, each inch of skin, how she looked almost ready to be sick. Worry filling his eyes and wrinkling his forehead, doubt surging forward once more, laughing gleefully and creeping past its borders, trespassing on where it knew it shouldn't have been.

"Syd, baby. What's wrong?"

This time, a pause so long that there would have been time for a nearly interminable amount of breaths. If either of them had thought to breathe, had the courage to gulp in even the smallest amount of air.

"There's something I have to tell you first."

It might change everything and it might not. It would definitely change _something_, had to. Might even make him want to eat his words, make him glad that she hadn't given him the chance to…

"What is it?" His voice was soft as cotton, wrapping around her in a comforting web, sighing through the darkness, edged with fear, concern, honesty, adoration…

"Vaughn…" It was easier to start the sentence with his name, to let that one familiar and cherished word pour from her lips before all the others did, smoothing the way. Her fingers tiptoed along his arm in the dark, brushing lightly against his skin. "I… I…"

But still her words stumbled, tripped and collided with each other; finding the pathway to her lips not quite so smooth after all, derailing somewhere on the way to her voice box and unable to pull themselves back onto the track.

Fighting to incite other emotions, knowing she had never faltered to speak out in anger, trying and failing to completely lose herself in happiness, excitement, anything… But it didn't work. She didn't understand why she couldn't tell him, why she hadn't been able to each and every one of the other times she had wanted to, every moment of every day since…

"Baby, what's wrong?" _Please, please, please…_ He pulled her into his arms again, tightening them around her, his lips brushing against whatever patch of skin they found first. He hoped beyond anything that she would open up to him, didn't know why they had to play by the rules now.

But even his tenderly spoken words couldn't drag it out of her, no matter how hard she tried to force them, how badly she wanted to just open her mouth and scream it to the heavens, tell him that…

"Can we just stay home tomorrow?"

The words were not the ones she wanted, the change of subject beyond her control. She couldn't manage the fear that had its chains tight around her, nearly strangling her with blinding frenzy and fury. The fear that he wouldn't respond the way she knew he would, the doubt that she would speak and wake to find that all this wasn't real, that they were still in the warehouse, still on a mission, still playing the game.

"You don't want to do anything? Go anywhere?"

She could sense the hint of disappointment prowling through his words, was sorry that she had been the one to let it loose from its cage. Finding his hand in the darkness, she grasped it tightly, squeezing his fingers in apology, silently asking for just a few more minutes, a few more seconds for her to…

"No… I just want to be here… with you."

And there wasn't any part of that that was a lie. It was all she really wanted, to stay in his arms forever. Too bad that's not all there was to it, that conversation couldn't have stopped there and made everything all right.

"Okay," Vaughn murmured, offering her a smile that she couldn't see. "Anything you want, Syd."

She smiled, tilting her face up to his. He could just make out her dimples in the dark, and that alone was almost enough to erase all of this and fling him into happiness, only the soft way she spoke keeping him grounded.

"Thanks."

"We're on vacation," he responded, letting her buy her time; trying to convince himself that this wasn't playing the game, not really, that he could feel the truth floating around them, knew it had to land eventually.

So he pulled her closer, even though it seemed nearly impossible, brought her hand to his lips and kissed each one of her knuckles. "We have nothing to do for three whole days," be paused there, tacking on his next word almost as an afterthought, because maybe not all was right with this yet, maybe they still needed to talk about... "Syd?"

"Hmm?"

"Come here."

An odd command perhaps, since she was already in his arms, couldn't get any closer if she tried. But she knew what he wanted, knew that to comply with his request she had to pull away from him, to sit beside him on the bed so she could twist around and look into his eyes.

"It was…" Vaughn's hands came up to frame her face, as he searched for the right words, his thumbs brushing gently against her cheeks. "It was nice to have a family with you… Even if it was only for a little while."

Without even knowing it, he had brought her to the precipice, showing her with tender words and soft caresses which way was the safest. Sydney followed his lead and jumped, arms outstretched, eyes closed, not knowing when she opened them, why she was surprised to find that she had landed in his arms. 

"Michael…" 

She didn't pause or stutter this time; somehow it fell from her lips so naturally, as if it had been there all along. It was the first time she had ever called him by his first name, and that alone was enough to snap his eyes to hers, to make him melt on the spot, no questions asked. It made him afraid to move, breathe, blink; afraid that if his heart beat too fast, too slow, too loudly, not loud enough, those two syllables would fade out of existence, its echo would no longer linger in the air.

Luckily, Vaughn didn't need to speak. Sydney's soft voice melted away all of the fear and doubt within him, his penetrating eyes soothing away her own. Lost in each other, neither of them noticed that the tattered rulebook had been lured from under the bed, disappearing as it tried to escape through the window; neither of them even remembered what the rules of the game had been.

"… Actually, I… _We_…"

Vaughn had thought that her saying his name had been enough, more than he could ever ask for. But coupled with her next breath, her next few words, the shy almost scared smile that lit up her face as she glanced downward, and he was gone. His face lighting up for just a moment before his lips were ravishing hers, a gentle hand placed carefully on her stomach in wonder and awe.

"… You're going to be a daddy."

~~~

The End


End file.
